The Girl You Left Behind

straight-faced.
     ‘Mo said I was entitled to it.’
    ‘Mo also thinks it’s perfectly
     acceptable to put washing-up liquid in the drinks of customers you don’t
     like.’
    ‘Washing-up liquid?’
    ‘Apparently it makes them wee all
     night. It’s how she plays God with the romantic chances of her diners. You do not
     want to know what she does to the coffees of people who really upset her.’
    He shakes his head admiringly. ‘Mo is
     wasted in that job. There’s a place in organized crime for that girl.’
    They climb out of the taxi and go into the
     warehouse. The air is crisp with the approach of autumn; it seems to bite her skin. They
     hurry into the fuggy warmth of the foyer. She feels a bit silly now. Somehow she can see
     that in the previous forty-eight hours Paul McCafferty had stopped being a person and
     started to become an idea, a thing. The symbol of her moving-on. It was too much weight
     for something so new.
    She hears Mo’s voice in her ear:
Whoa, missus. You think too much.
    And then, as he tugs the lift door shut
     behind them, they fall silent. It ascends slowly, rattling and echoing, thelights flickering, as they always do. It heads past the first floor,
     and they can hear the distant concrete echo of someone taking the stairs, a few bars of
     cello music from another apartment.
    Liv is acutely conscious of him in the
     enclosed space, the citrus tang of his aftershave, the imprint of his arm around her
     shoulders. She looks down and wishes, suddenly, that she had not changed into this
     frumpy skirt, the flat heels. She wishes she had worn the butterfly shoes.
    She looks up and he is watching her. He is
     not laughing. He holds out his hand, and as she takes it, he draws her slowly the two
     steps across the lift, and lowers his face to hers so that they are inches apart. But he
     does not kiss her.
    His blue eyes travel slowly over her face:
     eyes, eyelashes, brows, lips, until she feels curiously exposed. She can feel his breath
     on her skin, his mouth so close to hers that she could tip forwards and bite it
     gently.
    Still he does not kiss her.
    It makes her shiver with longing.
    ‘I can’t stop thinking about
     you,’ he murmurs.
    ‘Good.’
    He rests his nose against hers. The very
     tops of their lips are touching. She can feel the weight of him against her. She thinks
     her legs may have begun to tremble. ‘Yes, it’s fine. I mean, no, I’m
     terrified. But in a good way. I – I think I …’
    ‘Stop talking,’ he murmurs. She
     feels his words against her lips, his fingertips tracing the side of her neck, and she
     cannot speak.
    And then they are at the top floor, kissing.
     He wrenchesopen the lift door and they stumble out, still pressed
     against each other, need spiralling between them. She has one hand inside the back of
     his shirt, absorbing the heat of his skin. She reaches behind her with the other,
     fumbling until she opens the door.
    They fall into the house. She does not turn
     on the light. She staggers backwards, dazed now by his mouth on hers, his hands on her
     waist. She wants him so badly her legs turn liquid. She crashes against the wall, hears
     him swear under his breath.
    ‘Here,’ she whispers.
     ‘Now.’
    His body, solid against hers. They are in
     the kitchen. The moon hangs above the skylight, casting the room in a cold blue light.
     Something dangerous has entered the room, something dark and alive and delicious. She
     hesitates, just a moment, and pulls her jumper over her head. She is someone she knew a
     long time ago, unafraid, greedy. She reaches up, her eyes locked on his, and unbuttons
     her shirt. One, two, three, the buttons fall away. The shirt slides from her shoulders,
     so that she is exposed to her waist. Her bare skin tightens in the cool air. His eyes
     travel down her torso and her breath quickens. Everything stops.
    The room is silent apart from their
     breathing. She feels magnetized. She leans forward, something building, intense and
     gorgeous in this brief hiatus, and they are kissing, a kiss she feels she has waited
     years to complete, a kiss that does not already have a full stop in mind. She breathes
     in his aftershave, her mind spins, goes blank. She forgets where they are. He pulls away
     gently, and he is smiling.
    ‘What?’ She is glazed,
     breathless.
    ‘You.’ He’s lost for
     words. Her smile spreads across her face, then she kisses him through it until she is
     lost, dizzy, until