Tell Me Everything by Sarah Salway

I lived in a room with no bathroom, no proper washing facilities.”
    I looked down at Mr. Roberts as I said this, but all I could see was the kidney-shaped bald patch on top of his head. I guessed hewas getting the message though. I was spending precious time going to the leisure center for showers every evening in this hot weather. Time I could be spending with Tim.
    “He asked me if I wasn't worried about getting diseases, even fleas. ‘Look at your hair,’ he'd say, lifting up a lock of my hair and letting it fall in disgust. Although, of course,” I added, “my hair was always perfectly clean.”
    Mr. Roberts gave a sort of snort from below. He was always teasing me about how many times Miranda did my hair.
    I continued. “He'd say then that he had to see what he could do about it. He hemmed and hawed and looked at me over these big glasses he used to wear. And then he'd send me upstairs in the elevator. I had to go and stand outside the hotel room and wait for him. He would always have these big bags with him. I was worried the first time, but they were just full of towels. He'd bring his own.
    “We'd go straight to the bathroom. Candles were placed everywhere, which he would light, but the bath would already be full of water. Cold water, as clear and sparkling as if it was ice. I'd have to fold my clothes up as I took them off. He requested that especially; he wanted everything to be neat. And he wouldn't touch me, wouldn't even look at me directly as I did so. Just watched my reflection in the mirror. And when I was naked he'd turn round and point toward the bath. He'd be fully dressed, although when I was in the bath he'd put on one of those blue-and-white-striped butcher's aprons. He'd kneel down beside me, take out a big white sponge from his bag and start to clean me. Not with soap or anything, just with the water.
    “It was freezing sometimes. I'd catch my breath when he'd trickle it over me, but I never complained. Never said anything. Neither of us did. He'd rub me all over, pushing me back gently to immerse my hair in the water, spending time stroking mybreasts with the sponge, dipping in between my legs and then back again to my breasts. He let water trickle down my back, following the curve of my spine. And then when he'd done it all, he'd do it again. We were there for hours.
    “When he'd had enough, he'd get up and stand again with his back toward me, looking in the mirror. I'd have to wake myself up sometimes. I used to fall into a kind of trance. I'd wrap myself up in one of the white towels he'd brought and he'd come and rub me dry. And then I'd get dressed and leave.”
    “That was that?”
    “That was all,” I said. “He never touched my skin directly once. He always used the sponge. He was a perfect gentleman.”
    Mr. Roberts was quick to step out of the way as I came down the ladder. And when he came back from his lunchtime walk I noticed a carrier bag by the door up to my room. “What's this?” I asked.
    “A present,” he said, bustling round with the till so he didn't have to take too much notice of me. “Thought it might come in useful upstairs in this hot weather.”
    Later that night, I filled the large bucket Mr. Roberts had given me with cold water from the downstairs sink and carried it up to my room. Then I lit the candle he'd bought and, using the white sponge I'd also found in the bag, I trickled cold water all over my naked body. It was like being baptized. I didn't rub myself dry with the matching towel though. Instead I draped it out over the floorboards and lay down, letting the air from the open window dry my skin naturally. I emptied my mind of everything, breathing in and out slowly as I imagined myself a glass bear sitting on an ice cap, watching the ocean swell before me.

Twenty-three
    E ven when there was no chance of seeing Tim, I looked forward to my daily visits to the Seize the Day bench. I was the same age now that Jessica was when she died, but these days