Don't Come Looking by AJ Campbell (top 100 novels of all time TXT) 📕

this one,’ he slurred and stepped out into the busy road to hail an approaching black cab. The driver swerved out of the way, waving his fist to Pete’s unmerited bombardment of vulgar insults.

‘You’re OK,’ I said, snatching the notes out of his hand. ‘I’ll make my own way home. See you in the morning.’

It was early evening, about eight o’clock, and the frost-covered pavements were glistening like sparklers in the glow of the streetlights. A few metres up the road, I turned to see him sway towards the club he had visited the previous night. Stealthily, I followed him. When he stopped to lean against the window of the neighbouring shop and light a cigarette, I slipped into a busy newsagent, pretending to browse through some birthday cards while eyeballing him. He removed his phone and made a call, his breath forming smoking clouds in the frozen air. When I saw him flick his cigarette butt on the ground, and carry on up the road, I boldly followed his clumsy footsteps.

He didn’t know where he was going, it seemed. We moved in circles, around and around Soho, up past the Royal Opera House until, arriving at a backstreet on the edge of Covent Garden, he punched a code into a keypad and entered a block of flats. What was he going in there for? Intrigued, I jogged up the steps and peered through the glass panel. He disappeared into a lift, and I waited until the red light above the doors indicated he’d stopped in the basement. There was only one thing for it. I stood by the bottom stair, and when a couple approached and entered, I slipped in behind them before the door clicked shut. They pressed the down button for the lift, and I got out my phone and pretended to make a call until the doors closed. I looked around. With walls covered in greying flock wallpaper and the floor in swirly patterned carpets, it wasn’t the most glamorous of places. It smelled of the medicated chest rub my mum used to put on me as a kid when I had a cold.

My stomach was turning, but my inquisitive nature urged me forward. I called for the lift again and pressed the B button when a redhead in a long coat entered the lobby and hurried towards me, waving. ‘Hold for me, please,’ she called out in a low voice. It was the most uncomfortable half a minute of my life. She wouldn’t take her eyes off me. When we bumped down at the basement, the doors slowly opened into a dark dungeon. Redhead winked at me, and I followed her into what I can only describe as an electrically charged sexual playground. A stark contrast to the lobby I’d descended from.

A man sprung out of the corner of the candle-lit room as if he’d been waiting hours for my arrival. ‘I like them young. Want to come with me?’ he asked.

‘Not at the moment, maybe later,’ I whispered as if I’d left my usually confident voice in the lift.

Removing her coat, Redhead grabbed my hand. I swallowed my astonishment to see she wore nothing but a leather chest harness with a lead attached like a dog. ‘I like them young too.’ I should have turned around, but the stimulating mix of perfume and naked bodies lured me to go with her. I was intrigued, to put it mildly. We tip-toed between the moans and groans of couples everywhere – on cushions scattered on the floor, chairs, L-shaped squashy sofas and up against the walls – changing positions and partners as fast as my stomach was turning.

A day of education that can’t be taught in the classroom.

We passed through more shrills of sensual delight until she led me to a room where it took all my resolve not to vomit that five-course lunch over the carpeted floor. Much to my advantage, Pete had his back to the door as he wriggled on a giant sofa with a man and a woman while Guns N’ Roses belted out from an old-fashioned stacked music system in the corner of the room. I turned to Redhead, ‘Not for me, thanks.’ She tutted and stroked my cheek before wandering off to hunt down her next victim.

I had to be quick. Confident I hadn’t been seen, I snuck out of the room, leaving the door ajar. Peering through the gap, I whipped out my phone and flicked the video switch. Never one to miss such an opportune moment, I crouched down, aimed it in the doorway and recorded myself a little film.

Nineteen

DAY 7

‘How long until Gill gets here, Mummy?’ Joe asks. He is standing with Isabella next to the kitchen counter, scooping flour into a mixing bowl. They have raided the dressing up box already. Joe is wearing a triceratops costume complete with horns and beady eyes. Isabella looks equally as cute dressed as a winged fairy, waving a wooden spoon like a magic wand. I have said for weeks that I will teach them how to make pancakes, and when they woke me this morning, they wouldn’t let me forget.

I yawn. It’s only seven-thirty, but they insisted on getting up an hour ago. By the time we’d finished clearing up after the party last night, and Sasha’s friend was ready to give us a lift, Jim and I didn’t get home until gone one, so I’ve left him sleeping. Another night of pain will keep him there at least another hour.

‘Anytime soon,’ I say, kissing my son’s perfectly smooth cheek.

‘How long is she staying for?’ Isabella asks.

‘The whole week. I’ve already told you. While Mel is on holiday.’

‘Yippee.’ Joe claps his hands. Despite my head throbbing from too much alcohol and lack of sleep – not to mention the emotional upset – I share his excitement. It’s been three months since Gill last visited, and that’s far too long.

Joe cocks his head to one side and squints at