make it worse by contacting Adam Campbell. He’ll delete his number and get on with his life.
Later on, mid-evening, Mark’s back at his flat. He’s about to make himself a coffee when his mobile rings again. The letter A pops up as the caller. Fuck. Adam Campbell. Looks like he’s dead set on re-establishing contact. For Mark, it’s weird knowing Adam is on the other end, trying to access him, as though he’s stretching out to exert control over him again. Mark lets the call go to voicemail, unsure why he’s not yet deleted Adam’s number, telling himself it’s because his mind’s been tangled up with Rachel. Nothing to do with the fact he’s still wondering whether Adam attended the vigil for the same reason he did. Time for coffee. Then he’ll check out what Adam has to say.
Mug in hand, he listens to the voicemail message Adam’s left for him.
‘Not heard from you yet, mate. Give me a call. Be good to catch up after so long.’ Nothing intimidating, nothing overtly pressurised. None of the terrifying aggression of fourteen years ago. Mark relaxes a little. Maybe he’ll call Adam back in a day or so; any shit from the guy and he’ll get a new mobile. He taps in a brief text.
‘Got your message. Been a bit busy. Will be in contact.’ He presses send, breathing out a sigh of relief. Adam Campbell has been dealt with, at least for now.
Meanwhile, he needs to concentrate on Rachel and the issue of the fun run. Not a good idea , is the message being sent, loud and clear, from his subconscious. She might expect him to go and train with her, despite the event only being five kilometres in length. He’ll need to give the situation more thought. On with his running shoes. A fast seven-miler will give him the answers, allow him to suss out what to do over the thorny question of staying in touch with Rachel Morgan.
Returning to his flat an hour later, sweaty and panting, he has the solution. He’ll meet Rachel again, just the once, probably for lunch. It’s risky, but he promises himself it’ll be a one-off. He figures this way they can chat, and if he doesn’t get the answers he wants, he’ll stop using her so shamelessly. One more meeting, easy enough to do; he can be there and back without anyone, including Tony Jackson, realising he’s gone. He reflects on how he’ll be lunching with Abby Morgan’s sister and how that’s wrong on all kinds of levels, but he’s driven by his need for answers. He’ll run it by her when he joins Facebook.
Sorted, he tells himself.
9
FRIGGING FAT BITCH
Midnight. Nearly two weeks after breaking up with Mark, Natalie’s in bed, unable to sleep. The nagging voice in her head, telling her she’s been too hasty in dumping him, won’t ease up on her. Not unusual, this; post-split doubts always plague her as to whether she’s done the right thing. Each time, she tortures herself with not having given the ex in question one more chance. Convinces herself that, if she tries hard enough, he’ll come good in the end. Ah, the redemptive power of love; a seductive idea for Natalie, despite the contradictory evidence offered by her parents’ now defunct relationship.
Natalie’s body as well as her mind is missing Mark. Her revulsion at the thought of his hands touching her is ebbing away. She’s not had many men pass through her bed and so far, Mark’s been the only one to hit her sweet spot, so to speak. Before him, sex holds little appeal for Natalie. She’s on the large side, with plenty of hang-ups about her wobbly thighs, her jelly belly, her stretch-marked breasts. Inhibitions that haven’t exactly turned her into a confident sexual partner. Revealing her body doesn’t come easily. Nor does letting a man explore it. To compensate, she often projects a false confidence by taking the lead in bed, but it’s more through shyness than sexual prowess, despite the apparent contradiction. When she’s giving a man pleasure, he’s
Later on, mid-evening, Mark’s back at his flat. He’s about to make himself a coffee when his mobile rings again. The letter A pops up as the caller. Fuck. Adam Campbell. Looks like he’s dead set on re-establishing contact. For Mark, it’s weird knowing Adam is on the other end, trying to access him, as though he’s stretching out to exert control over him again. Mark lets the call go to voicemail, unsure why he’s not yet deleted Adam’s number, telling himself it’s because his mind’s been tangled up with Rachel. Nothing to do with the fact he’s still wondering whether Adam attended the vigil for the same reason he did. Time for coffee. Then he’ll check out what Adam has to say.
Mug in hand, he listens to the voicemail message Adam’s left for him.
‘Not heard from you yet, mate. Give me a call. Be good to catch up after so long.’ Nothing intimidating, nothing overtly pressurised. None of the terrifying aggression of fourteen years ago. Mark relaxes a little. Maybe he’ll call Adam back in a day or so; any shit from the guy and he’ll get a new mobile. He taps in a brief text.
‘Got your message. Been a bit busy. Will be in contact.’ He presses send, breathing out a sigh of relief. Adam Campbell has been dealt with, at least for now.
Meanwhile, he needs to concentrate on Rachel and the issue of the fun run. Not a good idea , is the message being sent, loud and clear, from his subconscious. She might expect him to go and train with her, despite the event only being five kilometres in length. He’ll need to give the situation more thought. On with his running shoes. A fast seven-miler will give him the answers, allow him to suss out what to do over the thorny question of staying in touch with Rachel Morgan.
Returning to his flat an hour later, sweaty and panting, he has the solution. He’ll meet Rachel again, just the once, probably for lunch. It’s risky, but he promises himself it’ll be a one-off. He figures this way they can chat, and if he doesn’t get the answers he wants, he’ll stop using her so shamelessly. One more meeting, easy enough to do; he can be there and back without anyone, including Tony Jackson, realising he’s gone. He reflects on how he’ll be lunching with Abby Morgan’s sister and how that’s wrong on all kinds of levels, but he’s driven by his need for answers. He’ll run it by her when he joins Facebook.
Sorted, he tells himself.
9
FRIGGING FAT BITCH
Midnight. Nearly two weeks after breaking up with Mark, Natalie’s in bed, unable to sleep. The nagging voice in her head, telling her she’s been too hasty in dumping him, won’t ease up on her. Not unusual, this; post-split doubts always plague her as to whether she’s done the right thing. Each time, she tortures herself with not having given the ex in question one more chance. Convinces herself that, if she tries hard enough, he’ll come good in the end. Ah, the redemptive power of love; a seductive idea for Natalie, despite the contradictory evidence offered by her parents’ now defunct relationship.
Natalie’s body as well as her mind is missing Mark. Her revulsion at the thought of his hands touching her is ebbing away. She’s not had many men pass through her bed and so far, Mark’s been the only one to hit her sweet spot, so to speak. Before him, sex holds little appeal for Natalie. She’s on the large side, with plenty of hang-ups about her wobbly thighs, her jelly belly, her stretch-marked breasts. Inhibitions that haven’t exactly turned her into a confident sexual partner. Revealing her body doesn’t come easily. Nor does letting a man explore it. To compensate, she often projects a false confidence by taking the lead in bed, but it’s more through shyness than sexual prowess, despite the apparent contradiction. When she’s giving a man pleasure, he’s
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