Jaff was nowhere in sight. Her head ached, but if she tried, she could piece together most of what had transpired..
They had taken the bottle of whiskey upstairs to her father’s bedroom, and there she had tumbled onto the bed with Jaff. Soon he was kissing her and his hands were groping all over her body. She had struggled a bit and thought at one point she might have told him to stop because she didn’t feel well. She remembered that she felt weird about doing it in her father’s bed, and her stomach didn’t feel too good after all the whiskey and wine. But Jaff was urgent. Soon he’d got her blouse off, and his hand wandered down the front of her jeans. Then they were coming off, too, and…well, that was when she was sick.
She had managed to turn away just in time and do it over the edge of the bed. She had thought that would stop him, put him off, especially when she had to go and rinse her mouth and brush her teeth. But when she had come back, jeans all zipped up, blouse straight and buttoned, he had been lying there on his back stark naked, smiling and huge, and he had started all over again. Her head had still been spinning, and she hadn’t been able to find the will or the strength to stop him. Not that she had really wanted to. She didn’t want to be thought a tease, and she was quite flattered by his attentions. She had also felt a little bit better by then, and she had quite liked it; after all, she had fantasized about sex with Jaff often enough, had even kissed him on the dance floor. A lot of girls, Tracy knew, would have swapped places with her in the blink of an eye. And she was doing it in her father’s bedroom.
Tracy couldn’t really remember what it had been like, but she recalled that Jaff hadn’t taken long, despite the amount he’d had to drink. It had all been over in a matter of moments. Jaff had then fallen fast asleep, or passed out. When Tracy had been sure that he wasn’t going to wake up for a while, she had crept out of her father’s room and gone to the other bedroom, the one she used to sleep in when she visited. And that was where she woke up to bright sunshine and bird-song. She had forgotten to close the curtains. For a moment she panicked, not knowing where she was, then she realized. She also remembered what she had done and where her clothes were.
Tracy wandered back into Banks’s bedroom and got dressed. Jaff was nowhere to be seen, and the house was silent. After using the bathroom and taking some of Banks’s paracetamol, Tracy went downstairs, calling Jaff’s name softly. She found him in the conservatory curled up in one of the wicker chairs, a half-full glass of whiskey and an overflowing ashtray on the table by his side. He looked almost angelic, she thought—long eyelashes, moist lips slightly parted, making breathy, snuffling sounds. She felt like kissing him, but she didn’t want to disturb him.
Tracy made some tea and toast in the kitchen as quietly as she could, then she decided to set about tidying up. First, she took a bowl of water and a cloth upstairs to clean the sick off the bedroom floor—thank God it was wood and not a carpet—feeling herself flush with embarrassment—how could she?—then she moved down to the entertainment room. Not sure where to begin there, she wandered back into the kitchen to refill her cup with tea.
That was when she thought of her mobile, and she realized that while Jaff was asleep, she could probably get it back. It could be ages before he found out what she had done. Jaff had put it in his hold-all, she remembered. He was probably right about it being dangerous to use. She had heard about people being traced through their mobile signals—her dad had mentioned it more than once—and Jaff seemed to know what he was talking about. It would be nice just to have it with her, though. It would be a great comfort. And she would keep it switched off. Surely that could do no harm? Surely Jaff couldn’t possibly object to
They had taken the bottle of whiskey upstairs to her father’s bedroom, and there she had tumbled onto the bed with Jaff. Soon he was kissing her and his hands were groping all over her body. She had struggled a bit and thought at one point she might have told him to stop because she didn’t feel well. She remembered that she felt weird about doing it in her father’s bed, and her stomach didn’t feel too good after all the whiskey and wine. But Jaff was urgent. Soon he’d got her blouse off, and his hand wandered down the front of her jeans. Then they were coming off, too, and…well, that was when she was sick.
She had managed to turn away just in time and do it over the edge of the bed. She had thought that would stop him, put him off, especially when she had to go and rinse her mouth and brush her teeth. But when she had come back, jeans all zipped up, blouse straight and buttoned, he had been lying there on his back stark naked, smiling and huge, and he had started all over again. Her head had still been spinning, and she hadn’t been able to find the will or the strength to stop him. Not that she had really wanted to. She didn’t want to be thought a tease, and she was quite flattered by his attentions. She had also felt a little bit better by then, and she had quite liked it; after all, she had fantasized about sex with Jaff often enough, had even kissed him on the dance floor. A lot of girls, Tracy knew, would have swapped places with her in the blink of an eye. And she was doing it in her father’s bedroom.
Tracy couldn’t really remember what it had been like, but she recalled that Jaff hadn’t taken long, despite the amount he’d had to drink. It had all been over in a matter of moments. Jaff had then fallen fast asleep, or passed out. When Tracy had been sure that he wasn’t going to wake up for a while, she had crept out of her father’s room and gone to the other bedroom, the one she used to sleep in when she visited. And that was where she woke up to bright sunshine and bird-song. She had forgotten to close the curtains. For a moment she panicked, not knowing where she was, then she realized. She also remembered what she had done and where her clothes were.
Tracy wandered back into Banks’s bedroom and got dressed. Jaff was nowhere to be seen, and the house was silent. After using the bathroom and taking some of Banks’s paracetamol, Tracy went downstairs, calling Jaff’s name softly. She found him in the conservatory curled up in one of the wicker chairs, a half-full glass of whiskey and an overflowing ashtray on the table by his side. He looked almost angelic, she thought—long eyelashes, moist lips slightly parted, making breathy, snuffling sounds. She felt like kissing him, but she didn’t want to disturb him.
Tracy made some tea and toast in the kitchen as quietly as she could, then she decided to set about tidying up. First, she took a bowl of water and a cloth upstairs to clean the sick off the bedroom floor—thank God it was wood and not a carpet—feeling herself flush with embarrassment—how could she?—then she moved down to the entertainment room. Not sure where to begin there, she wandered back into the kitchen to refill her cup with tea.
That was when she thought of her mobile, and she realized that while Jaff was asleep, she could probably get it back. It could be ages before he found out what she had done. Jaff had put it in his hold-all, she remembered. He was probably right about it being dangerous to use. She had heard about people being traced through their mobile signals—her dad had mentioned it more than once—and Jaff seemed to know what he was talking about. It would be nice just to have it with her, though. It would be a great comfort. And she would keep it switched off. Surely that could do no harm? Surely Jaff couldn’t possibly object to
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