Killing Cupid by Mark Edwards, Louise Voss Read Free Book Online Page B

good. I wanted her to know that she could arouse those feelings, even though I’m not sure I want her to know it’s me yet. I need to play it cool – don’t want to seem too keen. That always frightens them off or leads to misunderstandings.
    I may have to fight for Siobhan’s affections. Who was that man who left her house the other night? A lover? A friend? Maybe it was just her brother. No need to get violently jealous yet.
    Standing beside the postbox, my hand was trembling; my resolve was wavering. And then I heard, ‘That for me?’
    It was a postman. He must have unlocked the postbox and emptied the contents without me even noticing. (Sometimes, strangely, I just seem to black out, lose all sense of where I am, my mind conjuring up a fantasy world that over-rides reality.
    ‘I haven’t got all day, mate,’ the postie said.
    I handed him the card. And as soon as I did, I was glad I’d written it.
    Now I wish I could be there to see her open it. To see her smile. To see the pink flush of desire creep from her cheeks to her collar.
    To hear her say, ‘I want you too.’
     
    Wednesday
     
    Woke up with a headache and wet sheets. Just before going to sleep I read my favourite scene from Tara Lies Awake again – the one where Tara and Luke screw in the changing rooms at the sports centre, their bodies reeking of chlorine from the pool. I must have read that scene twenty times already. I wonder if this scene is pure imagination or based on a real event? The most noteworthy thing that ever happened to me in a sports centre was catching a verruca.
    It’s class tonight. I can’t wait, though I feel as nervous as hell. I ought to go to work, but I don’t think I can face it. I’m going to call in sick.
    Just did it – Jackie, my supervisor, sounded strange. Well, stranger than normal, the uptight bitch. She is the archetypal little Hitler. A small fish in a tiny pond, poisoned by power. She’s been watching me closely recently because my stats are down. Last week, I took 14% fewer calls than the average employee, and had more toilet breaks than anyone else, apart from cystitic Sharon. Employing her favourite cliché, Jackie told me I needed to buck my ideas up or risk being sent to see David, the big boss. Ooh, I’m scared! But I’m not going to let her get to me. There are far more important things in the world.
    Like tonight. Like seeing the woman I…
    Oh go on, Alex, admit it.
    The woman I love.
    There. I said it. Or wrote it, rather. I love Siobhan. I love her I love her I love her! God, that feels good. I want to do what they do in all those tacky songs: shout it from the highest mountain top, proclaim it from the top of the tallest building. I feel it fizzing inside me, a catherine wheel spinning and shooting colours. A piranha gnawing at my stomach lining. Bubbles inflating and floating upwards, making me light, making me dizzy. All these things. Because:
    I LOVE HER!
     
    I got there early, without meaning to. I didn’t want to risk arriving to find Siobhan already there on her own so I hung back in the car park, crouching behind a bush, until I saw Barbara and Jane go in. Then I made my way towards the classroom, flashed them a smile and sat down.
    Everyone else arrived, and then Siobhan. She looked us over, focussing on me for an extra second, I noticed. I expect she was embarrassed about losing my number. She wasn’t wearing her sexy outfit tonight: instead, she wore a black polo neck jumper and jeans. She still looked good, though, her sweater hugging her breasts, her bottom shapely in her jeans. I felt so hot from looking at her that I had to open a window, which made Barbara grumble.
    Siobhan looked at her watch. ‘We’d better wait for Brian.’
    But he didn’t appear. After five minutes, during which Siobhan chatted with Kathy, she said, ‘Well, I think we’d better get on.’ She looked a bit worried; perhaps she gets paid by the student. Oh Siobhan, if I could multiply myself to help