‘I’d no idea! Oh, darling!’ Across the table he took her hands in his. ‘But why didn’t you call me? If there was anything I could’ve done to help… Well, you know that, don’t you?’
She smiled at him. ‘Of course I know it.’ Old reliable Jack!
The food came. Jack pressed questions on her as he ate, wanting to hear every detail, bewildered that ‘attractive little caterpillars’ — as he called them — could actually kill people.
‘Wasps do,’ she reminded him drily. ‘And snakes. And you’re obviously enjoying that chicken.’
‘That’s hardly the same thing,’ he protested.
‘I think it is. The caterpillars are feeding, not waging war.’
‘Can you be sure?’
Ginny pushed her plate to one side, hardly touched. The chicken was stringy and the rice not hot enough. Over in the corner, an electric fan chuntered steadily but hardly disturbed the stale, warm air.
‘The coffee’s always lousy here,’ she said, making up her mind. It was the throw of a dice; she still felt uncertain about it. ‘Let’s have coffee at the flat.’
Never go back, some sage had once pontificated. Yet here she was, sitting beside Jack in his red Ferrari, driving through the old welcoming streets. The heavy London traffic opened up to allow them quickly through, as though part of a conspiracy to draw her into the web. Lights turned green as they approached.
Then Jack was putting his key in the lock, standing aside to let her go in first.
‘The flat’s in a bit of a mess, I’m afraid.’
She put down her briefcase and turned to him, placing her forefinger over his lips. ‘Say nothing.’
That first kiss lifted her over the edge. She felt her whole body yielding to him, like a plant unfolding to drink in the day’s warmth. Her mind was still alert, conscious of what was happening to her physically, observing her own weakness with a resigned cynicism. But it wasn’t weakness, of course.
Need was never weakness.
His arms were around her; his body hard and firm. She rested her head against his chest, knowing she could only find herself again through surrendering to that need. He tried to say something but again she stopped him, her hand on his mouth.
The bedroom was stifling hot and she raised the sash window to its full extent, then partly closed the curtains before stripping off her clothes. He was slower, still in his underwear while she was already naked.
‘Forgotten me already?’ she teased softly, going over to him. ‘I’ll have to give you a hand.’
Which she did, slipping her fingers beneath the elastic waistband to find him.
Then it was like recalling all the lovemaking they had ever shared together, rediscovering everything they had known, running their fingers lightly over each others’ bodies, renewing old familiarities. At last he towered above her, a great thrusting, sweating chunk of maleness serving her, doing her will, until she could bear it no longer. Her nails dug into his back, her eyes closed and she saw Bernie’s face. She moaned and her mind shaped Bernie’s name. The spasm that shuddered through her was Bernie’s doing.
It did not end there. For a time they lay fulfilled, naked next to each other, but then she got up and padded through the flat to get ice from the fridge while he rooted in the cupboard for his last remaining duty-free bottle of whisky. She sprawled in an armchair to drink, still not bothering to dress.
‘You staying tonight?’ he asked.
‘Of course. Don’t think I’ve finished with you yet.’ He was standing beside her and she reached out to lay her hand flat over the firm muscles of his belly. ‘Though I imagine you’ve been kept busy since I left.’
‘Missed you.’
‘That’s reassuring.’
She pulled him down to his knees and he fell across her, his mouth nuzzling her breast. He shifted in an attempt to keep his balance but she held on to him, causing him to fall, crushing her with his full weight.
‘God, you’re heavy!’ she panted, the breath squeezed out of her.
Immediately he moved and she twisted, laughing, from under him. They rolled over the carpet, mock-wrestling until suddenly he yielded, flat on his back, his arms outstretched. She stood astride the fallen male who had not yet fallen, looking down at his grinning face, mischievous with unspoken suggestion, and gradually, teasingly, with swaying, wriggling hips, lowered herself over him.
Less urgent this time, but all the more sensuous, playfully exploring every possibility. For all that, the image of Bernie was still there to fondle her with that steady gaze, to stay with her until at last she and Jack fell apart again, bathed in sweat, and triumphant.
Yet she would exorcise him, she swore to herself. Whatever it took.
The usual crowd assembled at the local pub that evening — their old local, not far from the flat — although there were some faces Ginny hadn’t seen before. One or two people asked if she’d been away on holiday, but most seemed not even to have noticed her absence. Typically London, she thought ruefully.
The odd thing was, even in that crush which spilled out on to the pavement she still felt tempted to come back. Since that afternoon, she mused, watching Jack battling his way through with the lager she’d ordered but didn’t really want. Since, in fact, she’d met up with all the old crowd again.
‘They were out of Tuborg,’ he said, reaching her. ‘Is Carlsberg all right?’
Her answer was drowned by a shout of disbelief from the people just behind her. She glanced back to see what was going on.
‘No, look, look, look!’ a man was protesting — a large, red-faced man in a flowered Hawaiian shirt which looked incongruous on him. ‘I’ve got here a small piece of beef — never you mind where I got it! — and I’m ready to bet you five pounds that if I put it down on this ledge, and take the lid off this jar, the caterpillar will come out and start eating the meat.’
‘No!’
Ginny couldn’t help herself. She screamed the word out. Everyone turned to stare at her. She recognised the man of course. He ran a junk stall in the street market and was often in this pub with some under-the-counter deal or other.
‘Oh yes, lady!’ He held the jar up — an ordinary pickles jar with a couple of holes punched in the lid. Inside was a large curled-up caterpillar, its yellow under-stripe easily visible through the plain glass. ‘See that? No common-or-daily caterpillar, that one! Bite you soon as look at you, he would. Any lady feel like giving him a little tickle just to test him?’
‘Don’t be stupid, man!’ she told him sharply. ‘You don’t realise how dangerous these things are!’
‘How dangerous?’ somebody called out.
‘They’re killers.’
‘Oh, that’s not fair!’ a slim, grey-faced man joined in, full of concern. ‘I mean, aren’t we all? Homo sapiens now — we’re life’s greatest murderers. I mean, look at the Bomb!’
‘Come on, now — place your bets! Five pounds that this caterpillar will make straight for the raw meat the moment I take the lid off the jar!’
Ginny pushed forward, facing him. ‘If anyone gets hurt, you’ll be held responsible. I’ll see to that.’
‘Lady, what do you know about ’em?’ His voice was patient.
‘I know several people are dead already.’
‘That’s true,’ Jack supported her. ‘There’s a bit of a panic going on down where she lives.’