Shut Your Eyes (The You Don't Know Me Trilogy Book 3), стр. 59
‘He’d go down on me for ages.’ A sob and a sniff. ‘Ages.’
‘Oh,’ I breathe, watching as the milk jug gets the bubble wrap treatment.
‘Magic tongue.’ She sticks her own tongue out and waggles it.
Suppressing a snigger, the assistant stows the tea set in a bag, and makes a start on the biscuit tin.
‘No, don’t wrap that.’
‘But …’
‘It’s fine.’ I grab the soaps and dump them in the bag. I try to do the same with the biscuit tin, but the bloody woman’s not parting with it easily. ‘Bag it,’ I snap. ‘How much?’
‘Two hundred and forty-three pounds.’ She produces a second bag and slips the tin into it.
‘For a tea set, a biscuit tin and three bars of soap?’ Lucy demands.
‘I can afford it.’ I hand over my card.
‘I suppose you can,’ Lucy muses. ‘One millionaire dumps you and another steps right into his place. How do you do it?’
I’m presented with a card machine and tap in my PIN.
‘Luck,’ I announce.
‘Bollocks to luck. Has he got an accountant?’
‘Probably.’ PIN accepted, I pop the card back into my purse, grab hold of the bagged biscuit tin, and thrust it at Lucy. ‘I think that’s enough shopping. We’re going home.’
‘No,’ she whines. ‘I want a drink.’
‘And you’re getting a drink,’ I inform her. In fact, she’s getting so much wine, she’ll be wallowing in a tongue-tied, drunken stupor by eight o’clock, if I have any say in the matter. ‘At home,’ I add, picking up the second bag. ‘I’m not letting you inflict any more of your crap on the unsuspecting public.’
Casting an apologetic smile in the assistant’s direction, I march out of the Bathroom section, hardly caring if Lucy’s following me. I’m stopped in my tracks by a young girl. She thrusts out a hand, and I look down, sucking in a sharp breath. She’s holding a single red rose.
‘From an admirer,’ she says awkwardly. ‘He asked me to give you this.’
‘Who?’
‘I don’t know. He’s gone now.’
My stomach reels. I have no doubt it was Mr Familiar. And wherever I’ve seen him before, he’s definitely working for the opposition.
‘It’s so romantic,’ the girl smiles dreamily.
‘No, it’s not.’ Lucy appears at my side. ‘It’s from her stalker. No offence, but you’d better sling it in the bin.’
Chapter Fifteen
‘You should go to the police,’ Lucy calls after me.
‘No.’
‘Why not? He’s stalking you.’
I come to a halt. After making our way up Regent Street, we’ve finally reached the madness of Oxford Circus. And now, unless we take a diversion via the backstreets, I’m going to have to negotiate a route through the hordes of shoppers. I check to the right, registering the crowds, the gaudy window displays, the Christmas lights shimmering against dark skies. My pulse begins to race.
‘The police,’ Lucy insists, catching up with me.
‘Leave it.’
‘Leave it? That’s what you always do.’
Because that’s my modus operandi. Bury it for now, tuck it away in some dusty compartment at the back of my mind, and deal with it later. Trouble is, the compartment’s currently full to overflowing, its contents spilling out into the open. Despite Boyd’s intrusion, nagging images of baby bumps and expensive cots refuse to leave my head. There are some things that just can’t be tucked away. Narrowing my eyes, I scan the shop signs. There’s bound to be a chemist somewhere.
‘Boyd’s being dealt with. Trust me.’
‘Is he?’ She looks around. ‘How? And I don’t see any protection, by the way.’
I close in on her.
‘It’s here. Somewhere. Now, stop going on about it. I need a chemist.’
‘What for?’
‘Thrush.’
Without another word, I pitch myself into the Christmas mayhem, heading toward Tottenham Court Road. Along the way, I find what I’m searching for, and head into the harsh light of a chemist. While Lucy takes herself off to examine the make-up, I sidle up to the pharmacist’s desk. A middle-aged, suited man emerges from the back office and I stare at him, panicking.
‘I’ve had unprotected sex,’ I mutter out of the side of my mouth, leaning over the desk.
‘Have you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh.’
We spend a few seconds nodding at each other before I realise he’s waiting for a little more guidance.
‘I don’t know what to do. I need help.’
He becomes business-like.
‘When did this happen?’ he asks.
I count out the days on my fingers, starting from Friday.
‘Five … no six days ago.’
‘Okay.’
‘Okay?’
‘Well, it’s too late for the morning after pill. Five days is your limit.’
‘Five?’ My mouth hangs open. ‘Shit.’ If I’d had my head out of the stupid sand, if I’d done my research, I could have dealt with this yesterday.
‘Five days tops. But it’s best to take the pill the morning after, hence the name.’
‘Oh.’
There’s no denying it. I’m a first-rate idiot. But maybe, just maybe, I’m a first-rate idiot who wasn’t ovulating six days ago. That’s my only hope.
‘When is your period due?’ the pharmacist asks.
When is my period due? I have no idea.
‘I don’t know. I had my last period a couple of weeks ago … I think.’
While my brain descends into chaos, a strange noise escapes from my mouth, something like a cat being strangled. I stare at him, blankly.
‘Okay,’ he says at last. ‘I think you might want one of these.’ Disappearing for a moment, he returns with a pregnancy testing kit. ‘It’s sensitive, but best to use it on the first day your period’s due, if you can work it out.’
‘Oh God.’ Urgently, I scan the shop. There aren’t many people in here, but any of them could be working for Boyd, or Dan. And I don’t want either man catching a whiff of this. ‘Put