The Blue Guide by Carrie Williams Page B

on his lips, and he keeps looking up and catching Jess’s eye. Both of them, it’s clear, are getting all in a froth at my descriptions of what Paco and I got up to, and after a few minutes I decide to leave them to it.
    Jess and I have a giant hug as I wait for my taxi. ‘Just remember what I said,’ she admonishes. ‘Leave well enough alone, girl. This one’s too hot to handle.’
    â€˜Message received loud and clear,’ I say. I shoot a look at the barman, who’s already undressing Jess with his eyes while she’s preoccupied with me. Jess lives only five minutes away, but I seriously doubt they’re going to make it back to her place before getting down and dirty.
    â€˜Have a lovely night,’ I say to her, and then a thought occurs to me. ‘Listen,’ I whisper. ‘I don’t know exactly what lover boy over there heard, but I don’t want it getting around about Paco, for obvious reasons. Will you try to sound out what he did and didn’t hear? And if he thinks he knows who we were talking about, make sure you get it straight that it wasn’t Manchega, OK?’
    â€˜Don’t worry,’ says Jess, ushering me out of the door. ‘You can count on me. Now just get the hell out of here.
Some
of us haven’t had a decent fuck in months, you know.’
    On my way home in the taxi, I turn my mobile back on and there’s a message from Carlotta. There’s langour in her voice, as if she’s drunk, or has just made love. She tells me she’s been thinking and has decided she’d like to go see some art tomorrow. She says she doesn’t mind where, but then Paco’s voice can be heard in the background:
    â€˜The Tate Modern. Tell her to take you there, angel.’
    â€˜The Tate Modern,’ reiterates Carlotta. She’s strangely pliant with Paco, I think, for a woman who seems to know her own mind so well the rest of the time. ‘I expect you midday again. Thanks Alicia.’
    I climb out of the taxi outside my flat, suddenly incredibly weary from all the emotions and complications of the last few days. But it’s all over now – I’ve promised Jess and I’ve promised myself. I’ll get a good night’s sleep and tomorrow will be fresh and bright as a blank canvas.

10
    IT’S PAST NOON, and the meter on my taxi is ticking over as I wait for Carlotta outside the hotel. I called up quarter of an hour ago to let her know I was waiting, but there’s no sign of her. Still, at the rates Paco’s paying me, I could sit here all day, letting the fare go through the roof. I sit back and watch the world go by. It’s a balmy summer’s day and there’s a lot of flesh on display by the office workers and students strolling out of Fitzrovia and down towards Oxford Street – lots of midriff T-shirts and short skirts and little denim shorts.
    Suddenly Carlotta’s there, sliding into the back beside me. She’s somewhat toned down today, in a short-sleeved baby-pink cashmere top and flared black linen skirt that comes down almost as far as her knees. She’s still in heels, of course, and her hair is loose as yesterday.
    â€˜Sorry,’ she says, clearly not really meaning it, and not offering any explanation. A sickly caramel smell floats in with her.
    â€˜What’s that perfume?’ I say.
    â€˜Angel,’ she says. ‘Thierry Mugler. You like?’
    I don’t have any choice but to say yes, though I’m not into perfume or aftershave at all – I much prefer the human body
au naturel
, within reason.
    â€˜Paco take me to Liberty’s on the way home last night,’ she explains. ‘The beauty hall is
amazing
. He buy incredible massage oil with sandalwood and – what it called? – patchouli and geranium in it. I dripping in it when he finish with me.’
    I don’t respond, don’t even look at her. I don’t want to know,