‘No. I left them sleeping. We had a very late night.’
‘Next time.’ He hits her with his big golden smile, sits and crosses his legs. ‘So, to what do I owe the pleasure?’
‘Well.’ She lays her fingertips on top of her passport and his eyes fall to it. ‘I need to go home,’ she says. ‘My friend is ill. Maybe dying. I want to see her, before she … in case … you know.’ A tear falls from her left eye and lands wonderfully on top of her passport. She wipes it away. She hadn’t planned to cry, but it had happened anyway.
‘Oh, honey.’ Michael puts his hand over hers.
She smiles tightly and tries to look grateful for the gesture.
‘That’s terrible. What is it? Is it cancer?’
She nods. ‘Ovarian.’ She takes her hand from under his and brings it to her mouth to stifle a small sob. ‘I want to go next week,’ she says, ‘but my passport, it’s expired. And I don’t even have any for the children. And I’m so so sorry to ask you. And you were so generous yesterday with the money for my fiddle. And I really wouldn’t ask if I had any other options. But do you still know the people? The ones who got me this passport?’ She runs a finger under her eyes and then looks up at him, pathetically, but hopefully still alluringly.
‘Well, gosh, not really. No. But, look, I’ll try.’ He pulls the passport towards him. ‘Leave it with me.’
‘Here. I brought photos. And, God, I know this might sound nuts, but I need one for the dog. He’s overdue some vaccinations so I can’t go the traditional route And God knows how long it would take, anyway …’
‘You’re taking the dog? To see a dying friend?’
‘I don’t really have any choice.’
‘Well, I could have him?’
She tries not to look too appalled at the thought of her precious dog living here with this monster. ‘But what would you do with a dog?’
‘Er, gosh, I don’t know. Play with it? Walk it? Feed it?’
‘There’s more to it than that. You have to get up every morning and take them to the toilet. And you have to pick up their shit.’
Michael rolls his eyes and says, ‘Joy loves dogs. She’d love having him around. And so would I.’
Of course, thinks Lucy, Michael has people to pick up dog shit.
‘Well,’ she says, ‘I’d rather take him with me. The children are attached to him, and so am I …’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he says. ‘I think dog passports are pushing the remit just a tad. But I’ll try.’
‘God,’ she says, eyes wide with feigned gratitude. ‘Thank you so much, Michael. I can’t tell you how relieved I am. I literally just got the message about my friend last night and I couldn’t sleep all night for worrying about how I was going to get to her. Thank you.’
‘Well, I haven’t done it yet.’
‘I know,’ she says. ‘I know you haven’t. But still, I’m so grateful.’
She sees his face turn from genial to creepy. ‘Really, really grateful?’
She forces a smile. She knows where this is going; she was prepared for it. ‘Really, really, really grateful,’ she says.
‘Ah.’ He leans back into his chair and smiles. ‘I like the sound of that.’
She returns his smile and runs her hand down her hair.
His eyes reach to the shuttered windows overhead, towards the master bedroom suite, location of multiple marital rapes. Then they return to her and she stifles a shudder. ‘Maybe next time,’ she says.