Dead of Winter

Chapter 42

‘Working nine to five!’ Tina sang along with Dolly Parton as she reached in behind the shower curtain and switched the shower on full blast.

Before she got into the shower, Tina pulled the string that switched the small fan heater on in the bathroom. She knew she wasn’t supposed to use it every time but tonight was a special occasion. She placed her large glass of Pinot Grigio, from the bottle Ebony had bought her for her birthday, on top of the toilet cistern and turned her music up; she’d got her music library on her phone. The quality wasn’t that good but it didn’t matter in the bathroom.

As she stepped in beneath the hot water she giggled to herself. She was so excited. She had finally been asked out by one of the men from the dating sites. At long last one of them had made the effort. She promised herself she would not make the mistake she’d made in the past of giving it away too soon. She’d done a lot of that after Don had left her. She’d wanted reassurance that she was desirable. She’d thought the more men she screwed the better she would feel about herself but she was wrong. She would also not make the mistake of talking about how Don had been a bastard and really hurt her. That was another thing people said she’d done and they didn’t like. She’d had a year off the sites. A year of soul-searching and a year of finding friends like Ebony and feck! it was a year since she’d had sex. She was practically a virgin again. Tina giggled again as she scoured her body with the scratchy sponge. ‘I deserve to be a size ten after this,’ she said to herself as she hummed away to the music and rubbed her fat bits vigorously with the exfoliator.

Two hours and most of the bottle of Pinot Grigio later, Tina sneaked a look at her date as they left the cab and walked towards the hotel entrance. Thank God I wore my Spanx pants! Her heart hammered beneath the chunky sweater dress. Shit. . how lucky am I. . friggin’ gorgeous. She couldn’t help but smile to herself.

The receptionist watched them enter. It was the graveyard shift at the Brunswick Hotel. She looked at the clock in the lobby above the dried flower arrangement. The time was 3.20 a.m. All the other residents were tucked up in bed. The hotel was a small one in King’s Cross. It wasn’t full. It wasn’t the best value or the best position for seeing the sights. It took the overspill from the better ones.

The receptionist smiled at the couple, nodding cordially. They crossed the empty lobby, their feet silent on the carpet.

Justin caught Tina’s glance and squeezed her around the waist. She was so glad he couldn’t feel the spare tyre that she’d put on since the break-up. It had been hard. She had been battling with low self-esteem. It had nearly broken her. She had had to leave her home, move into shared accommodation again. She had had to start from scratch. But now this man had done wonders for her since they’d begun emailing each other. He had made her feel alive again.

They stopped and she melted as his blue eyes met hers; with his gorgeous long blond hair and masculine shoulders he looked like a god.

She felt self-conscious. What was the receptionist thinking? That he was too good for her? The receptionist was beautiful, her glossy black hair pinned back elegantly, her lipstick in place. Maybe it was true — he was every woman’s dream man. They made their way up to the room. Justin slid his hand to her bottom and he squeezed. He seemed pleased with what he touched, she thought, but then again, she could tell he had also been watching the receptionist. She wasn’t kidding herself; something about this date seemed too good to be true. Now that Tina was on the way up to a hotel room to have the first sex since her husband went off with the girl from his work, she was thinking maybe she wasn’t ready.

Justin seemed to feel her tension, caught her looking back down the corridor as they neared the room. He gave her another squeeze.

‘You look beautiful. We’ll take our time, shall we? I’m looking forward to us getting to know one another.’ He stopped and held her close. ‘That’s what I miss most since losing my wife in the car accident, just holding someone close like this. Let’s just have a drink and a chat this time.’

Ahhhh. Her heart melted a little. He’d just touched on the subject of his wife’s death. It was really sweet the way he trusted her. He wasn’t pushing her at all but now that he put it like that she realized she’d be disappointed if nothing happened.

Once inside the room he went to the bathroom to get a couple of glasses. Then he returned and poured her a Bacardi and Coke.

He handed her the glass. Tina took the drink from him and clashed her glass against his as they said cheers.

‘Thank you for just being you, Tina.’

‘Ahhh. How sweet.’ She moved up a little on the bed to encourage him to sit next to her.

Justin went round the room and turned down the lighting and an orange glow filled the room. He placed his phone by the side of the bed and switched on some music. Michael Bublé was singing. Tina thought it couldn’t get much better.

She woke up with the mother of all hangovers. Her head was pounding. She couldn’t remember a thing beyond Bublé. She lay there for a few minutes looking around the room and trying hard to make sense of the situation. The pillow beside her was empty. The bathroom door was open, light off. She seemed to be alone in the room. She felt beneath the covers; she was naked. Her clothes were neatly folded on the chair next to the bathroom. That was weird. She never folded her clothes. She lay there thinking about how her body felt. They’d definitely had a shag: she was sore. They must have done it a few times to have to make her this sore. It didn’t make any sense. What had she drunk? Nearly a bottle of Pinot Grigio and two Bacardis. It was possible then, just. Jesus! She sat up in bed, resting on her elbows and looking around the room. She must have been drunker than she thought. He was definitely gone. The room was hardly touched. It looked strangely orderly: no dirty glasses, no sign of the night before. She looked across to the tea tray on the dressing table. Her mouth was drier than the Sahara. She slipped out of bed and crossed to the dressing table to make herself a cup of tea. As she waited for the kettle to boil she picked at the packets of biscuits and flinched. There was a small but deep cut at the tip of her forefinger.