Asking For Trouble by Kristina Lloyd Read Free Book Online Page B

afternoon’s?’
    ‘No. Very different. And I’d rather not talk about this afternoon.’
    ‘Fine. Just trying to get a picture. What else were you wearing?’
    ‘On top? Erm . . . some little strappy vest, white I think.’
    ‘Bra?’
    ‘No. I hate vest tops with bras. It looks ugly. Though I can understand the need. But my tits – they’re not big, they’re not little, they’re just . . . they’re good. They can support themselves, in small doses.’
    ‘Do you shave under your arms?’
    ‘No.’ I smiled. ‘I do my legs and bikini line. But not under my arms. I like the hair there. It’s soft and wispy. Just a hint of shading and texture, really.’
    I was doing well. I liked his questioning: it relaxed me. His voice was clipped and practical, as if he were a bureaucrat writing down my answers. There was no heavy breathing, no husky eagerness.
    ‘What did you have on your feet?’ he asked.
    ‘Er . . . I can’t remember. Trainers, probably. Or maybe sandals. I have these sandals – I call them my geisha-girl sandals. They’ve got thick wooden soles and the top bit is just two broad criss-cross straps. I might have been wearing those. Although, I think it was probably trainers because we’d planned on walking a bit and my geisha-girl sandals aren’t that comfy.’
    ‘Did you walk? Is that what made you horny?’
    ‘Yeah, I suppose so. We’d been to Arundel. I was with a guy called Ben. He’s a kind of on-off lover, travels a lot. But when he gets back to Brighton he usually looks me up. Sometimes we just meet, catch up on news and stuff. Sometimes we go places. Sometimes we go to bed. Depends on what else is happening in our lives. Sorry, is this history? Am I boring you?’
    ‘Yes, it is. And, no, you’re not. Go on.’
    ‘Well, he – Ben – he’d just got back from months in Mexico. He said he had this desperate ache to see something green and something posh. So I took him to Arundel. It’s got a castle that’s posh. And it’s in the middle of lots of green.’
    ‘Another castle,’ he said. ‘First Kenilworth and now this one. Do you have a thing about castles?’
    ‘No,’ I said with a gentle laugh. ‘Not that I know of. Coincidence, I swear. Anyway, we didn’t go inside the castle. We just had a great day. There’s a trout farm and we fed trout. We’re good together, me and Ben. Easy. Our skin was hot. Yeah, that’s another thing about sunny days. The heat makes you feel all languid and floppy. So I was feeling a bit like that, relaxed and carefree, and –’
    ‘Cut to the chase, Beth.’
    ‘Hmm. Well, do you know Ford station?’
    ‘Never been, no. What’s it like?’
    ‘It’s like any other arse-of-beyond train station, just a . . . a hiccup in a track that cuts through the countryside. It’s got one of those level-crossing things that clunks down to stop the cars. Just two platforms opposite each other. Pretty basic – some buildings under canopies, a few blue tubs with flowers in. You’d probably struggle to buy tickets there. But that’s where you have to change trains to get the Brighton connection and we’d walked from Arundel to Ford. We ended up missing the Brighton train by minutes, so we had time to kill and there weren’t many people about. Can’t remember why, but we wentover to the opposite platform, not the Brighton side of the track. I think we just fancied it. There was only one building there. Maybe we were playing explorers. Anyway, this building was like a red brick box with windows in. It was a waiting room, but a dead one – benches and a broken chair inside, a fireguard covering a heater. And that’s where it happened, where we had sex.’
    ‘What? Inside?’
    ‘No, no. The door was locked. Leaning against it. Well, I was. We were just taking a breather, wondering what to do until the next train came. We were standing by this building, at the side of it, and I was pressing my shoulder-blades to the wall and swigging water from a plastic