Because She Loves Me by Mark Edwards Page A

fear, my body flooding with adrenaline. I put my fists up, ready to fight, every muscle in my body tensed.
    ‘Andrew?’
    I blinked.
    ‘Charlie? What . . . what are you doing here?’
    Blessed relief washed through me. I looked around. No sign of the person who I had been sure was following me. He must have gone into one of the other flats on my road.
    ‘I thought I’d surprise you,’ Charlie said. ‘You look like you’re about to have a heart attack. What’s the matter?’
    I didn’t answer her question. ‘You told me you were in bed.’
    She smiled impishly. ‘I didn’t want to spoil the surprise.’ She took hold of the front of my coat, pulled me against her and kissed me. I was too freaked out to respond properly but she barely seemed to notice.
    ‘You’re freezing,’ she said. ‘Let’s get you inside. I’ll warm you up.’
    Before we went in I took one last look down the street. Where had the person following me gone?

Twelve
    Over the next couple of weeks, Charlie and I fell into a routine – though routine is not really the right word, as it suggests the mundane, tedium, life progressing without incident, each day another day closer to the grave. It wasn’t like that at all. Every day with Charlie was a mini adventure, even the days when we didn’t do much. She stayed at mine almost every night and the next day we would get up, have breakfast together, say goodbye as she went off to Moorfields and I settled at my computer to work, then meet up in the evening and go out to drink, watch a film or wander around London, exploring, following a book of walks Charlie had found in a charity shop that took us down river paths, across hidden marshes, through beautiful squares and into dark alleys.
    Alternatively, we would spend the evening at my place, curled up on the sofa or in bed, or drinking wine in the bath. We drank a lot of wine, we watched silly TV shows and we continued to have a lot of sex. We were both insatiable, hardly able to make it from one room to another without pulling at each other’s clothes. Most nights, I would fall asleep with Charlie holding me tightly, so spent and exhausted that I thought there was no way I’d be able to do it tomorrow, that my well had run dry. But the next day, we would be at it again.
    Looking back, it was like we had been gripped by a mania that went beyond the normal lustful fun that fills the early days of a relationship. I knew we couldn’t keep this up forever but, at the same time, believed that we would. We were having so much sex that I lost two or three pounds. My body looked more toned, my muscles pumped. I didn’t care about the circles that were beginning to darken beneath my eyes. Who needed sleep?
    One night, lying in bed, a thought struck me. ‘You still haven’t shown me any of your art,’ I said.
    ‘I know. I will. But I haven’t had time to do anything lately.’ She poked my chest. ‘I’ve been distracted.’
    The room was candlelit and cold outside the cocoon of the bed.
    ‘That makes me feel guilty. I don’t want you to stop doing what you love.’
    ‘You’re what I love,’ she said, her voice thick and sleepy.
    ‘Yes, but . . . You said you were going to do my portrait.’
    There was no response. She was asleep.

    The next day I had a meeting with Wowcom’s marketing director, who appeared thoroughly bored and unimpressed with everything I showed him, though Victor would call me afterwards and say, ‘You really wowed them at Wowcom.’ I could never tell if he was being sarcastic. They wanted me to keep working on the project, though, and Victor told me he had some other clients he wanted me to meet.
    ‘One thing,’ he said. ‘The client says your work is a little too sexy. I mean, sexy is good. Of course it’s fucking good. But this isn’t American Apparel or Playboy. You need to tone it down a bit.’
    I was shocked. I’d used a few risqué images: young, beautiful people entwined, kissing on beaches. It was