Page 38 of In Love and Revenge

Silence engulfs the room, and I swear I can actually hear his thoughts, about how he can’t wait to escape back to his immaculate Bugatti that smells like a walking cologne advert. Maybe he thinks he’ll need a tetanus booster when he leaves.

‘My sister said you lived in Chelsea,’ he says finally, his eyes fixing on my gold sequinned top that’s hanging on the end of the exposed rail that serves as my wardrobe. I got it from a charity shop, and it leans to one side, but as long as I don’t overload it then it works just fine.

‘My father and I did. Until it got seized.’

I cross my arms, waiting for him to finish his scrutiny of my home. It might not be much, but it’s clean, and filled with my favourite photographs of my father and me. Years ago, before Dad started doing well at his job and got headhunted to work for his old firm, we were doing okay. We weren’t wealthy, but it wasn’t bedsits like this one, or big houses in Chelsea, either. That only came in the last few years.

But we had enough. And we had each other.

‘Are you safe here? There isn’t even a doorman.’ Rafael’s upper lip curls in disgust and I could roll my eyes at how pretentious he sounds.

‘It’s fine.’

‘Fine?’ he echoes, like he isn’t convinced at all.

I wait for him to say something else demeaning about my home.

Muffled voices on the other side of the wall grow louder.

‘You’re a dirty little liar,’ a woman scorns.

‘Oh yes. Yes, I am. I’m sorry, Mistress.’

‘You told me you had money, but the only thing big about you is your ego. What’s fifty quid? It’s nothing. Send me more, you disgusting little cockroach. I deserve much more for having to talk to you.’

There’s a deep groan, followed by a feminine drawl. ‘It’ll do ... for a start. You’re not touching that ridiculously sad excuse for a dick, are you?’

‘I-I’m sorry, Mistress.’

‘If you’re going to do that and make me listen then you’d better send more money right now.’

Another groan.

‘My neighbour, Mike,’ I explain as Rafael looks at me with horrified eyes, like he just licked the bowl of a public toilet.

‘Mike?’ he growls, glaring at the wall through which Mike’s moans of clear enjoyment are audible. ‘You have to listen to this shit?’

‘Yeah, but I mean ... she’s actually very skilled. Her name’s Mistress of Mockery, and I don’t think I could do what she does and keep a straight face. She called Mike a selfish little turd last week. He really liked that.’

I’ve never seen Rafael look flustered before, but the wide flare of his nostrils tells me he’s one breath away from marching next door and telling Mike to quieten the hell down. Which would be ironic seeing as that’s what Mike’s always telling me to do with the TV.

‘He’s done this before?’ he growls.

I nod. ‘Twice a week since I moved in. Then the other nights he listens to the replays.’

‘Replays?’ His rich bronze eyes widen, which I take as an invitation to continue, although it’s second-hand embarrassment that keeps me talking as a way of covering the sounds of Mike’s laboured pants coming through the wall.

‘Yeah. It’s all online. He pays to video call with her. And when he can’t, he watches the replays ... on repeat.’

Rafael stares at me. ‘This guy plays recordings of the same woman every day ... so he can wank to them?’

My cheeks burn at the way ‘wank’ sounds being growled from his lips.

‘Yeah. But she only wants his money.’ I shrug. ‘Bet you think that’s kind of ... sad?’

His mouth drops open, and he takes a breath like he’s about to say something, but then decides against it.

‘Oh, Mistress,’ Mike moans.