Lie With Me Read Online Free Page A

earth and damp.
    The house, lit up behind me, was exposed – the candles on the table, the glint of cutlery: every detail visible to anyone who might be lurking down there. A shout of laughter, a scrape of chair. Boo’s voice shrieking, ‘No!’
    I moved out of sight. An ironwork bench lurked on the grass, hidden from the kitchen by shrubs. I perched on the edge of it, trying not to get my trousers damp. A climbing frame and a trampoline with tall black sides, hulked like convict ships on the Kent marshes. The moon came out, dappling the grass, and disappeared again. An aeroplane crossed overhead – an angry snarl on the wind.
    I lit my fag easily enough this time. It was cold. I should have gone to get my coat. I wondered how quickly I could go home. The evening had been fine – I’d managed – but, now I had eaten, there was nothing here for me. No women. No work. No whiff of a house-sit. I inhaled deeply, drawing the nicotine into my blood.
    A sudden loud burst of conversation, a shot of warmth – immediately sliced off. I turned. Alice was standing on the terrace. I kept still in case she decided to go back in, but she took a couple of steps across the lawn and saw me.
    ‘Hi,’ she said.
    She made a quick gesture to rearrange a bit of her hair at the back – that thing women do, with such a touching air of secrecy, half-tweak, half-smooth, as if they believe there is only one position in which their hair is acceptable. I find it oddly moving.
    She took a step closer. ‘I thought I might bum a cigarette off you – if that’s OK?’
    I felt the usual flicker. Why don’t non-smokers buy their own? Or not smoke? ‘Of course,’ I said gallantly, reaching into my jacket pocket.
    She perched next to me, elbows on her knees, and I handed her a cigarette. I made a wry reference to the femininity of my brand – ultra ultra low-tar Silk Cut – and she laughed, though I was only trying to distract her from my lighter. It was the long, thin stick Andrew had left on the table. I slipped it back into my pocket and continued to fondle it. It was matt black, soft to the touch.
    She inhaled deeply. ‘Lovely,’ she said. ‘I don’t actually smoke. Your typical social smoker. But it’s getting harder and harder to maintain the habit these days.’ She set off on a riff – how e-cigarettes were ruining all her fun, how the opportunities for ‘the mild stoned fugginess’ she enjoyed were drying up.
    I said: ‘I suppose you can’t ask someone sucking on an electric vaporiser to “give us a vape”? Not unless you want a mouth full of caramel-flavoured spittle.’
    ‘Exactly.’ She laughed. Her eyes, almond-shaped, were a cat-like green under arched eyebrows.
    ‘How did you first meet Andrew?’ she asked. ‘I forgot to ask.’
    ‘I was at Trinity with him.’
    ‘Ah. Cambridge. Of course.’ She smiled. ‘Did you know him well then?’
    ‘Not particularly.’ I sat back on the bench – damp or no damp – and tilted my head to the sky. ‘I knew his sister a bit.’
    ‘Florrie. Yes of course.’
    ‘You know her?’
    ‘We were best friends at school. I met Andrew through her. I used to visit her in Cambridge. In fact, I’m not sure you and I didn’t meet there, too.’ She smiled. ‘I have a lot to thank her for. Andrew and I are great mates .’
    Great mates. She gave a high artificial laugh. She was one of those women who gush and flirt, but it’s all fake. They hold back everything that matters. You never find out what’s really there. If anything’s really there. Terrible in bed, too.
    She studied her cigarette closely, then looked up, and said coyly: ‘You don’t remember meeting me before, do you? In Cambridge, or in Greece?’
    ‘You do look familiar.’ I dropped my cigarette and screwed it into the grass with my heel. I decided to cut to the chase. ‘But listen, Alice. I’m really sorry. All evening I’ve been a bit embarrassed about this. I don’t know why Andrew invited me. That