“That’s a good idea. I won’t get far without those two things.”
He gives me a dry look, reaches past me into a drawer and pulls out a pencil case. “I did it already.”
I giggle and take it from him. Pink-and-white kittens again. “Thank you.”
Taking hold of both my ankles, he squeezes them tightly. “And if you do ever forget one, for god’s sake tell me, won’t you? I won’t be mad. I just need to know. All right?”
“All right.”
“Good girl.” He clears his throat. “Did the doctor tell you how long it would be until you’re protected?” he asks, his tone perhaps a little too light and conversational. Is he as impatient as me to go to bed together? It’s all I’ve been able to think about since I stayed at his apartment, though my impatience has been mixed with worry that I won’t like it or I’ll be rubbish at it.
“A week,” I say. “Next Friday.”
“I see.”
I look at him, one eyebrow raised, but that’s all he says.
He messages me at 8:00 a.m. every morning all week.
Have you taken your pill?
Yes, daddy.
Good girl.
By Tuesday receiving his message makes me roll my eyes and I add, It’s like you’ve got a vested interest in me taking these pills.
Princess, I would do this if they were antibiotics for an ingrown toenail.
I believe him.
By Wednesday I start to wonder why he hasn’t made plans with me for Friday night. I start dropping hints, but he ignores them.
On Thursday night in his office I pout and ask him why he hasn’t asked me out or over to his flat.
He give me his Now, princess look. “You’ve got two performances on Saturday. You can’t have a late night on Friday.”
“Yes, I can.”
The severe look deepens. “Do you want to say that again?”
I open my mouth, and then close it again and fold my arms.
“Are you sulking?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s too bad, because I made a restaurant booking for Saturday night.”
I immediately brighten. “Oh, really?”
“I’ll cancel it if you sulk. Are you sulking?”
I shake my head, smiling.
“Good girl.”
On Friday morning I am on the high street posting a letter for my mother when I walk past a red dress in a window. I stop and go back to it. It’s a fire-engine red bandage dress with a scoop neckline. I chew my lip, looking at it. It’s not the sort of thing that normally appeals to me, but for some reason, I want to try it on.