Perfect Day

outfit, Kate realizes, imagining what Tony would think if she turned up to work in that. She pulls it out and holds it up against herself. Very short. At the bottom of the drawer is a blue and white striped dress and a flat white hat with a red cross on it. A nurse’s uniform. It looks as innocent as a child’s costume from the Early Learning Centre.
    The other drawer is crammed with lingerie, shiny and colourful like a box of Quality Street chocolates.
    The first evening Kate arrived in London , she was unpacking her things on the bed when Marie announced, ‘I’d give you a drawer, but they’re full of my work clothes.’
    Everything of Kate’s had to go back into the suitcase under the bed.
    ‘Make sure you don’t leave your stuff lying around,’ Marie instructed.
    No ordinary cotton knickers allowed here.

    Kate pulls out bras and suspenders in purple and red and gold, all trimmed with black lace. Flamingo pink satin camiknickers with lacing up the back, a body in black rubber that smells of bin liners and talcum powder. She fingers a teddy the colour of milk chocolate with coffee lace shoulder straps, pulls it out of the drawer and holds it against herself, then, with a quick look over her shoulder, she lets the damp towel drop to the floor, and steps into the garment.
    The fabric feels fragile against her skin: it’s real silk , because there’s the slightest catch against the pads of her fingers as she smoothes her hands down her ribcage.
    Kate takes the small mirror off the wall and, holding it at arm’s length, twists and bends to see sections of her body. The knicker bit is like loose shorts around her thighs. She thinks how nice it would be to walk around all the time with air blowing around down there and the light brush of silk. She holds the mirror behind her, hooking one finger under the lace edge to expose a curve of buttock.
    The entryphone buzzes. Kate picks up the handset. It’s impossible to hear anything over the static, but it’s probably Marie who’s too lazy to get out her keys, so she buzzes her in and starts to stuff the lingerie back into the open drawer. There seems to be more of it now, and the drawer won’t close properly. Marie’s going to be cross that she’s tried stuff on. As the footsteps grow closer, Kate jumps back into bed and pulls the quilt up to her chin.
    The footsteps are much heavier than Marie’s.
    It’s a man.
    One of Marie’s clients?
    The bloke who collects the rent and always looks as if he wants a little bit more than the notes her sister hands over?
    Kate decides to keep quiet and pretend there’s no-one there.
    But he’ll know because she buzzed him in.
    She can’t see from the bed whether she fastened all the locks on the door when she came back in from the toilet.
    The footsteps stop outside.
    Her heart’s thumping in her chest.
    ‘Kate?’
    His voice!
    She must be imagining it.
    ‘Kate?’
    It is him.
    Kate climbs out of bed and, wrapping the bath towel around her chest like a sarong, tiptoes across the room to the door.
    ‘I wondered if you’d like a coffee.’
    His voice is louder now. He hasn’t heard her cross the room. She puts her ear to the door. He’s so close, she can hear his accelerated breathing after the climb.
    ‘I’m not dressed,’ she whispers.
    It’s not the first thing she thought she’d say if they ever met again.
    There’s a long silence.
    A waft of scalded milk carried on an invisible wisp of steam finds a way through the keyhole to her nostrils.
    ‘Shall I go?’
    ‘No!’ She opens the door a little, keeping her body behind it. ‘No, don’t go,’ she says, trying to make her voice a bit calmer.
    He’s wearing a loose khaki shirt today, and ironed chinos. He has his jacket hooked over his shoulder by the index finger of his left hand. With his dark hair, he could be a South American revolutionary who’s made a bit of an effort for Mass, or something.
    ‘I wondered if you’d like to go for another walk...’ he says.
    His eyes don’t meet hers.
    ‘My shift starts at eleven,’ she tells him.
    What’s wrong with her? Here he is, her fantasy materialized in front of her, cappuccino and everything, and she’s doing her best to put him off.
    ‘I thought it was Marie. You can’t hear anything through this.’ Kate picks up the entryphone to demonstrate. He bends his head forward slightly to listen to the crackle.
    ‘I could have been anyone,’ he says.
    ‘Lucky you weren’t.’
    Then his eyes