The Other Me by Saskia Sarginson Read Free Book Online Page A

together,’ he says, ‘if that’s what’s bothering you. I mean, you were a little amorous, but neither of us was in any condition… you spent some time in the bathroom…’
    ‘Enough!’ I put my hands over my ears. ‘Please don’t.’
    He sits up, blinking at his watch. ‘I would say let’s get breakfast, but it’s past lunch time.’
    Unbelieving, I grab his wrist to check the time for myself. He feels warm, solid. He’s right. We’ve overslept. I’ve missed my tap class.
    ‘How about a coffee?’ He pushes the covers back and stands up. He’s not quite naked. He’s wearing a pair of crumpled boxers. I look away from his bare legs and stomach. But not before I glimpse taut muscles, dark hair tracing a line from his belly button down under the low-slung waistband of his boxers. ‘Think you might need one,’ he adds. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him bend to retrieve his shirt from the floor.
    I do need something to sharpen me up. I heave myself out of bed, dragging the sheets with me, wrapping them around myself with some difficulty. He watches me, his mouth twitching. Trying to maintain my dignity I hobble towards the door.
    ‘Drink some water,’ he yells as I shut myself in the bathroom. I lean over the sink, dizzy and nauseous. Turning on the cold tap, I pool water in my hands, splashing my eyes. It goes up my nose, drips down my throat. I bury my face in a towel. I can’t believe that he’s here, in my room.
    God, I look haggard. The mirror shows grey smudges on my skin. My brown hair is a bird’s nest. I drag a comb through it, and say his name aloud. ‘Cosmo.’ I’ve thought about him a lot since meeting him in the pub. But the truth is, he’s a stranger. The first time we met doesn’t count. We hardly exchanged more than a couple of words. And he’s forgotten. Which is embarrassing. I scrub at my teeth and spit bubbles of minty paste into the sink. The failure of yesterday is sitting inside me, implacable and heavy. Memories have begun to flash up like neon signs behind my eyes. Voronkov’s voice hissing, ‘Coward.’
     
    We squeeze into a sofa booth behind a small table at Café Flo. As we wait for our drinks to arrive, we both fall silent. I glance at my nails and then at the chipped green walls and the collection of oversized clocks, all of them telling different times. A local radio station plays in the background. Cosmo is humming along to some recent pop song, and he shifts in his seat, casually resting his arm along the back of the sofa. Students slump at tables, reading newspapers, chatting over plates of egg and chips and mugs of coffee, but every fibre of my body is acutely aware of the warm, human shape of his arm just behind me, and the space between us, his skin so nearly touching mine.
    I open my mouth to ask him something useful and polite, like if he lives in Leeds, but instead I can’t stop myself blurting out, ‘Actually, we’ve already met. Ages ago. You gave me some ice.’ My face burns and I look away.
    ‘Ah, so you do remember.’ He gives me a wide smile. ‘Yeah. I recognised you too.’ He moves his arm and scratches his cheek. ‘I knew straight away. The girl with the toe. I stood in the doorway and watched you dancing.’ He looks down. ‘How’s your foot now?’
    ‘Fine. Thanks.’ I rest my chin on my hand, ducking to hide my pleasure. I play with the ends of my hair, twisting them between my fingers. ‘Haven’t you done your finals?’
    He nods. ‘I finished last year. History. I’m doing teacher training now. There’s a college, the other side of town. I went to the party with a mate of mine who’s doing an MA here. Abandoned him I’m afraid. One look at you and…’
    ‘Oh.’ I can’t think how to respond.
    ‘Couldn’t stop watching you… sorry, that sounds pervy. It was the way you danced. Lost in the music.’
    ‘Drunk, you mean.’
    ‘No… you were good.’
    Our cappuccinos arrive and I dip into the froth, swirling