The Fear. C.L. Taylor

When asked by one friend why she was making the move, Lou had replied, ‘I’ll DM you.’ That had frustrated Wendy almost as much as her initial attempt to add Lou as a friend. Wendy didn’t comment. She never did. Instead she lurked, reading and analysing everything she found.

      She hadn’t planned to sit in the café directly opposite Consol eLearning on Lou’s first day but she’d woken up at 5.30 a.m. and hadn’t been able to get back to sleep. With her car in the garage, Monty walked, and no meetings until that afternoon, she had found herself at a bit of a loose end.

      I probably won’t see her, she told herself as she settled herself into the single window seat at 8.15 a.m. with a pot of tea. And if I don’t, that’s fine. I have work I can catch up on before I meet up with Judith.

      But Wendy’s briefcase of paperwork sat untouched by her feet for an hour. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from the window and the people walking past. And then she saw her, Lou, walking down the street. She’d watched, her heart pounding in her chest as Lou had pulled at the door to Consol eLearning, then slumped back in her seat, exhausted and spent, as the door closed behind her and she disappeared from view. Wendy made a snap decision. She would stay in the café until lunchtime to see where Lou went. No one could have been more surprised than her when she actually came in.

      Now, she looks at her watch – 1.32 p.m. Lou’s late. Yesterday she came in at 1.05 p.m. But there’s no way Wendy can hold on for another second. She really must use the toilet. She grabs her handbag, snatches up her coat and speeds across the café.

      When she walks back out again, Lou Wandsworth is standing less than five metres away from her. Shock almost propels Wendy straight back into the ladies’. Across the room, her table has already been snapped up by a family of three and there are no free seats available. She has two choices – leave without paying the bill or join the queue behind Lou?

      She moves closer. She has never run off without paying a bill in her life and she’s not about to do so now.

      Lou doesn’t so much as glance round as Wendy silently slips behind her and rests a quivering hand on the top of the glass cake display. Up close, Wendy is able to measure herself against the other woman. Louise Wandsworth is tall, at least five inches taller than her, and her hips – swimming in a too large skirt – are narrower than Wendy’s waist. There is mud on the heels of Lou’s shoes and the ends of her hair are split and tangled. The compulsion to reach into her bag and pull out a comb is almost more than Wendy can bear. She never leaves the house without checking that her shoes are clean and her hair is neat.

      ‘Order to go, please,’ Lou says as the café owner, a smiley woman about Wendy’s age in a blue and white striped apron, gives her a nod. ‘Black coffee, chicken roll and a fruit salad pot.’

      ‘Not stopping today?’

      ‘No, I need to prepare for a client meeting at three. Well, it’s more of a pitch for new business.’

      ‘Sounds important.’

      ‘It is. The boss wants me to bring in more money.’

      ‘Well, fingers crossed it goes well.’

      Wendy stands very still, her eyes fixed to the floor as the café owner bustles about, putting the order together, and Lou stands silently beside her, waiting. After an interminable five or six minutes, she hears the clink of money changing hands, the dry rustle of a paper bag being handed over and a soft, breathy ‘thank you’.

      ‘Yes?’ the café owner says. ‘Hello, yes. How can I help you?’

      Wendy tears her eyes away from the thin figure sprinting across the road and fixes the other woman with a big smile. She’s just had the most wonderful idea.

       Chapter 8

       Lou

       I can’t believe I get to spend a whole weekend with Mike in France. First stop, a hotel room just outside Calais. I’ve been in hotel rooms before, mostly on holiday with Mum and Dad, but this is only the second time I’ve been to one with Mike. The first time was to a Travelodge in Birmingham. The carpet was blue and there were stripy curtains but they weren’t what caught my attention – it was the double bed in the middle of the room. It was finally going to happen. Mike and I were going to have sex for the first time and I was utterly terrified, despite him reassuring me that we’d take our time and he’d be ever so gentle.

       We’ve had sex loads of times since then, sometimes in the dojo changing rooms but mostly in his car after class. When Mike offered to start dropping me home, Dad couldn’t say yes fast enough. He said it would give him more time to get some work done but we both knew he meant more time at the pub.

       When we reach our hotel room, Mike opens the door, chucks the bags in, then holds up a hand when I try to enter.

       ‘No, no. I need to carry you in!’

       I laugh. ‘We’re not married!’

       ‘We will be one day!’

       I try to wriggle away as he reaches for me. I’m far too heavy and I’d die of embarrassment if he drops me. But Mike scoops me up and into his arms as though I’m as light as a feather. He kicks the door closed behind me and half-drops, half-throws me onto the bed. I land on my side and twist round to pull him close for a kiss. He pecks me on the lips, then flips me onto my stomach and pulls me towards him so I’m bent over the bed.

       ‘Mike!’ I laugh, as he starts unbuttoning my jeans. ‘Let’s at least go out for dinner first. I thought this weekend was supposed to be romantic.’

       He looks at me but it’s as though he doesn’t really see me. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes have this weird glassy sheen to them. He’s got this jubilant expression on his face, like he’s climbed a mountain or won a race.

       ‘It will be,’ he says as he yanks my jeans and knickers down to my ankles.

       A couple of minutes later he slumps on top of me, roaring as he comes. It’s the first time we’ve had sex and haven’t looked each other in the eye.

       Saturday 28th April 2007

      Three days ago I caved and texted Ben. Mostly because I still feel so awful about what happened and partly because my friend Alice encouraged me to. She rang me on my mobile as I was walking to my car after work. Just for a chat, she said, but we both knew she was fishing for gossip. First she chastised me for not updating Facebook since I left London, then she told me she’d bumped into Ben in the pub. Apparently he was frosty when she asked how he was.

      ‘He said, I’ve been better. Those were his exact words. I think he still likes you, Lou. Are you sure you can’t sort things out with him?’

      I haven’t told Alice the truth about what happened in Dover. I said we’d had an argument and decided to end things. She doesn’t know about Mike. None of my friends do.

      ‘I’ve told you, I’m a screw-up when it comes to men. I can’t even become a mad old cat lady because I’m allergic to them. Cats, not old ladies, although I’ve never had one rub themselves up and down my leg.’

      Alice laughed. ‘Okay, well, first off, we’re all screwed up. Some people are just better at hiding it than others. Secondly, what you and Ben had was pretty intense. I barely saw you when you were with him. Maybe you both just need a bit of a breather. Has he texted you since you split up? Have you texted him?’

      No, I