This time, we both lean forwards at the same time and, as our lips meet, I can feel my heart beating faster and my body starting to tingle. I slide my hand round to the back of his head to pull him closer into me. There’s no doubt that he gets the message, as I can feel him opening his mouth. I do the same and our tongues touch for the first time. It’s electric. I don’t know what he’s been so worried about; he’s a fantastic kisser.
I have no idea how long we spend side by side leaning into each other but, after a while, the slightly awkward angle starts to hurt my neck. He obviously feels it too, because I’m aware of his hand on my hip encouraging me as I move to straddle him. This is much better, although my hands suddenly take on a life of their own, moving from his shoulders to his chest and then his shirt buttons.
27
We didn’t have sex. Not quite, anyway. Things got pretty heated, but he didn’t have any condoms and I’m not on the pill because there didn’t seem to be much point with James. Despite that, we found ways to satisfy each other and it was better than normal sex in some respects. We took time to explore each other’s bodies and discover what we both liked. I think we were both surprised by how natural and right it felt.
At least, that’s how I felt last night. Now, I’m acutely aware that I’m in an unfamiliar bed with Elliott’s arm draped across me. I’d really like to wriggle out and cross the hallway to my flat, where I can have a shower and brush my teeth, but I don’t want him to wake up to an empty bed and think I’ve deserted him. I lie there, pondering my predicament. Elliott is still fast asleep, but I’m becoming increasingly aware of my bladder, and it’s this that spurs me into action. I carefully detach myself from him and pull on my sparkly top. It’s not quite long enough to cover my knickers, but it’ll have to do. Modesty is the least of my concerns after last night. I leave the bedroom as quietly as I can and head for the bathroom.
Having dealt with the most immediate problem, my mind turns back to the events of the previous evening. Do I have any regrets about what happened? No. In fact, I’m amazed that I didn’t notice my feelings for Elliott earlier. Yes, he’s quiet and reserved, but he’s also kind and funny when he relaxes, and he’s in pretty good shape physically, too. He made me feel desired, and that’s a strong aphrodisiac for anyone. The memory of his hands and mouth on my body makes me smile. He was so keen to please me, and he did. One of us will need to buy some condoms today, though. There’s definitely unfinished business there, and we have the whole weekend to attend to it.
I saunter into the kitchen in search of coffee, but quickly give up when I spy the coffee machine. It’s a typical man gadget, all shiny chrome and incomprehensible buttons. I pour myself a glass of water instead and take the opportunity to have a good old nose around the flat while Elliott is still asleep. I’ve been in the sitting room before, and a quick browse of the bookshelves doesn’t tell me anything I don’t already know, so I turn my attention to the second bedroom. I know he uses it as a study, like me, but I’ve never been in there. I’m sure he won’t mind, so I gently push on the door and turn on the light.
Whatever I was expecting to find in here, it wasn’t this. My mouth drops open in surprise; I think I’d prefer to have discovered some sort ofFifty Shadessex dungeon than the scene in front of me. Suddenly, I feel as if I don’t know Elliott at all. The whole room is a shrine to Nutsy the Squirrel. There are Nutsy posters on the walls, open boxes of Nutsy merchandise on the floor, and even a cardboard standalone Nutsy figure in the corner that’s as tall as I am. There are four huge monitors above the desk, and a large computer underneath it. I don’t get it. He’s obviously got some completely bizarre obsession with Nutsy, and it’s quite a turnoff if I’m honest, but how did I never spot this before? I don’t remember ever seeing him play the game, and he’s certainly never mentioned it. In fact, I remember that he pretended not to know what it was when he first saw me playing it on the train. Maybe he’s ashamed of his obsession, and he creeps back here to play into the early hours. I’m completely confused. How could he have hidden this from me so successfully?
‘It’s not what it looks like,’ Elliott’s voice says from behind me, making me start.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,’ I tell him. ‘I was just exploring while I waited for you to wake up and…’ I run out of words. I turn to face him, but I can’t meet his eyes.
‘Are you okay? Are you having regrets about last night?’ He’s obviously picked up on my discomfort, but he’s looking a little confused, as if there’s nothing weird about having a whole room in your flat dedicated to a character in a mobile app.
‘No, not at all!’ I reply, far too brightly, and I can see from his expression that he doesn’t believe me. ‘I just didn’t have any idea that you were so into Nutsy. It’s a surprise.’
‘It’s not that I’m into him, so much as that I am him. He’s been a part of my life for four years now. It wouldn’t be putting it too strongly to say that he probably stopped me from going mad.’
Oh Lord, this is getting worse and worse. Maybe he’s got some sort of Nutsy costume he dresses up in as well, and he selected me because he saw me playing the game and thought I might be a kindred spirit. I really will run for the hills if that happens. I’m generally pretty open-minded, but men who are obsessively into things normally associated with children, such as comics or cartoon characters, make me very uneasy. It’s like a part of them has got stuck and they haven’t managed to become complete adults. As I’m contemplating my predicament, Elliott’s words sink in and I realise something doesn’t add up here.
‘That doesn’t make sense, Elliott,’ I challenge him. ‘Nutsy hasn’t even been out for a year.’
‘You’re right. It took me three years to write him.’
‘Youwrotehim?’ A wave of relief crashes over me. I remember my dad saying something about Nutsy being written by a guy in his bedroom. It just never occurred to me that it could be Elliott.
‘Yes. When I first moved in here, I was a mess. I had work, obviously, and fighting over the divorce settlement kept me occupied to begin with. Once that settled down, evenings and weekends became like purgatory. I realised I needed a project to keep me occupied, otherwise I’d probably end up turning to the bottle. First, I had to learn how to develop software for both Android and iOS, which took quite a while, and then I started work on Nutsy. I never expected him to be as popular as he is; I really just did it as something to keep me sane. Are you sure you’re all right? If you’re having regrets…’
‘I’m not having regrets about last night, okay? I really enjoyed myself, as you should know from, well…’ I blush a little. ‘But I’m very relieved to learn that you have all this stuff because you wrote him. I was worried that you were some sort of strange Nutsy obsessive.’
‘God, no!’
‘Why didn’t you tell me about it? He’s literally a massive success!’
‘It’s not something I broadcast. I haven’t exactly hidden the fact that I wrote him; I just haven’t advertised it. That hasn’t stopped them tracking me down, though. I’ve been asked for interviews by all sorts of people. Here, let me show you.’
He turns on the computer and brings up his email program on one of the monitors. Sure enough, there are invitations from various computer magazines, bloggers, and even a couple of TV stations.
‘That’s amazing, Elliott,’ I tell him. From being worried that he was a secret weirdo, I’m now full of admiration.
‘I’m pretty chuffed with him, I admit. The problem is that it’s gone a bit too far recently,’ he says. ‘All this stuff,’ he indicates the boxes, ‘gets sent to me by companies that want to make Nutsy merchandise under licence. I don’t have the first idea how to go about that sort of thing. I imagine they would make it and I’d get a commission, but how am I supposed to know how much to ask for? I’ve also got some company in the Far East emailing me now, wanting to buy the rights to Nutsy so they can translate him into other languages, especially Chinese, Japanese, and Korean. They’ve offered me fifty million pounds. That’s mad, isn’t it?’
‘It sounds to me like you’ve created a monster,’ I tell him.
‘He is getting a bit out of control, that’s true. To begin with, it was fun to see how many people were downloading the app, and I enjoyed reading the reviews and seeing how much they liked it. Then the money started to come in, slowly at first. When it was picked up by some of the major bloggers, that’s when things really started to happen and now it’s pouring in, way more than I could ever have dreamed.’
‘But that’s good, isn’t it?’ I ask him.
‘I guess so, but it’s taken me a bit by surprise,’ he replies.
‘Hang on, that doesn’t make sense either!’ I exclaim, as another realisation hits me. ‘If you’re rich, what on earth are you doing renting a two-bedroom flat by Sevenoaks station?’