‘Wait,’ she said. She stood up and walked into the bedroom. Luke undressed. She came back and passed him a pot of moisturising cream. She felt the cream on her, cool; in the mirror she saw him dip his fingers into the pot, watched them disappear between her buttocks.
‘Is that too cold?’ he said.
‘Even here,’ she said, ‘he has to regulate the temperature. It’s cool. It’s nice. Look at the mirror.’ Everything they saw lagged fractionally behind what they felt. He slid his finger into her more easily, began masturbating her arsehole. He felt her tense, relax, tighten, relax. She reached back, pushed her own fingers into the pot and smeared cream on to him.
He moved towards her, began pressing gently. In the mirror she was still rubbing lotion on to him. His penis slid up between her buttocks. She reached back and guided him. He pressed. She gasped.
‘Did I hurt you?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m sorry. Shall I stop?’
‘No, try again.’ She pulled her buttocks apart. He could see her arsehole, dark, smudged with white cream. He leaned forward, pressed.
‘Yes, there. . No, there. Yes.’ She felt him enter her. ‘Ah, gently. Wait, wait.’ His prick was in her now. ‘OK.’ He pushed a little more, could feel the head of his prick inside her, gripped tight. In the mirror she saw him pressing, not yet inside her.
‘Yes.’
‘Is that nice?’
‘Yes, yes. Do it harder, deeper,’ she said, touching herself.
‘I’m going to come soon.’
‘Wait,’ she said. ‘Wait.’
‘Come, come soon.’
‘Yes, now, yes.’
Luke collapsed on top of her. In the mirror they were still locked together, tensed on the brink of coming. They lay as they were, not speaking, then Luke moved on to his side.
‘Is it. . is it clean?’ said Nicole. Luke looked down at his penis.
‘Yes.’
‘What a relief.’
‘It wouldn’t have mattered if it wasn’t,’ said Luke. ‘But I’ll go to the bathroom anyway.’
Luke pissed and then washed his penis in the basin while Nicole sat on the toilet. He touched her head and left the bathroom. It was raining harder. He opened the door to the balcony, startled by the noise of the rain. They lay in bed, listening to the rain, watching it pour past, angling in and bouncing off the floor of the balcony. Lights across the road were blurs and streaks.
‘Did you like that?’
‘What?’
‘Me in your arse.’
‘Yes. You’re so tender, Lukey. You were in my core. Is that the word?’
‘Yes.’
‘It was, I don’t know, primitive.’
‘Had you done it before?’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Yes. Have you? No, don’t tell me. If you have I don’t want to know.’ She turned away. Then she faced him again and said, ‘I ask you something else instead.’
‘Anything.’
‘What is it you want to do, Luke?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘With your life.’
‘I’m doing it.’
‘Ultimately.’
‘Ultimately I want to keep on doing it. Keep on living it. My life, I mean. You just said I was in your core, yes? Well, I feel the same. That I’m close to the centre, the core, of my life.’
‘What about work?’
‘As in a career?’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t think I want to spend the rest of my life working five days a week at the warehouse.’
‘What would you like to do instead?’
‘I’d like to go part-time.’
‘Then?’
‘I’d like to retire.’
‘You’re strange, Luke. When I first saw you, at passage Thiéré. I thought. . There was such yearning in you.’
‘I was yearning for you.’
‘No, it was more. I see it in you still. It’s part of you. It is you. And then in other ways you seem almost not to want anything, not to care.’
‘I care about you. And I really want a beer. I’m yearning for one.’ Luke walked over to the fridge and opened the door. ‘Actually,’ he said, rummaging around for a beer, ‘I yearn to be exactly where I am now.’ Nicole said nothing. Luke turned and found she was gone. The room was full of the hiss of rain. He walked by the bed and peeked round the door of the balcony. She was leaning with her back against the balcony rail, the rain flooding over her. Her hair was soaking black over her shoulders. Her eyes were closed. The rain was falling so hard that it must have been on the brink of hurting. Luke watched the ricochets and darts of rain like electrical charges leaping around her.
She opened her eyes and looked at him.
Ahmed turned up for work on Monday with a broken nose and a black eye. He looked like he’d been in a fight. He had been in a fight — or at least he’d been on the receiving end of one. He and Sally had left the club together. She had to get up early the next day and had taken a taxi home. Ahmed had begun walking. There was never any trouble in clubs and Ahmed had carried that safe, friendly atmosphere out into the street with him. It was late, there was hardly anyone around. A guy asked him the time. Ahmed said he didn’t have a watch. The guy punched him in the face. The blow knocked Ahmed to the floor. He felt a couple of kicks in the ribs and the side of the head but was able to scramble to his feet and run. The guy who’d hit him didn’t bother giving chase. Ahmed walked straight to the hospital and stayed there till nine in the morning, getting his cuts stitched, having X-rays.
‘Why didn’t you telephone?’ said Luke.
‘It was too late.’
‘Too late?’
‘And I was sort of embarrassed. Sunday I slept almost all day. I called Sally and she came over.’
Lazare said Ahmed could go home, he’d pay him for the day anyway. Ahmed preferred to work. He didn’t want to sit at home moping about what had happened. Lazare was in excellent spirits: a consignment sent to Marseille had gone missing so he was able to spend the whole morning calling people up and abusing them. When I went into the office I heard him use the word ‘cocksucker’, a sure sign that he was enjoying himself.
In the afternoon Luke went out for ten minutes and returned with a box of Arab cakes.
‘For everyone,’ he said, ‘but make sure you leave some for Ahmed since he’s not capable of fending for himself. .’
Sahra called Alex before he had a chance to phone her, on Monday night. His heart leaped when he heard her voice.
‘How’ve you been?’ he said. ‘What did you do yesterday?’
‘Sunday? Oh, I didn’t leave the apartment. The Day That Wasn’t Even A Day. What about you?’
‘I can’t remember. Maybe the same.’
‘There’s a party,’ said Sahra. ‘On Friday. Would you like to go?
‘Sure. Yes.’
‘It’s quite a smart party. We’ll have to dress up — you’ll have to dress up.’
‘Great. I love to dress up.’
‘And Nicole and Luke. Do you want to ask them as well?’
‘Yes, sure.’
‘Is that your idea of a conversation: “Yes, sure?”’
‘Yes, sure,’ said Alex, glad at the chance to sound laconic.
‘See you Friday then,’ she said — and hung up.
Nicole was still getting ready when Luke called for her. He was wearing his suit.
‘I’ve never seen you look so smart,’ said Nicole, kissing him. ‘You look so. .’
‘So what?’