‘I want to find this blogger,’ I said helplessly.
‘And you can’t do that without the help of his dick?’
‘I don’t have to shag him! It’s just – we were just starting to get somewhere.’
Tilda was silent for a few moments, transfixed by the skirling of leaves outside.
‘So that’s a no, then,’ she said, turning back abruptly. ‘You won’t stop seeing him. He wins. I lose.’
‘It’s not like that,’ I insisted. I stood up to take her empty bottle to the bar. ‘Look, I’m going to get us another drink.’
‘Hold on,’ she said, as I turned to go. ‘What the hell’s happened to your legs?’
I clutched the empties harder, resisting the reflexive urge to put my hands on my thighs and hide them.
‘Oh,’ I said, ‘just…I dunno…they got stuck to Tom’s car seat.’
Tilda raised an eyebrow. ‘Must have been sweaty in there,’ she said. ‘But wouldn’t that have faded by now?’ She gave me a sudden, shrewd look. ‘Or has he talked you into trying out some of his pervy ideas?’
I wanted to say I didn’t know what she meant, but my face must have given me away. It flash-flooded with heat.
‘Oh, my God, he has, hasn’t he?’
I put down the bottles and sank back into my seat with some reluctance.
‘What do you mean by pervy ideas?’
‘I mean some of the stuff that was a dealbreaker for me in the first place. Kinky stuff. Bondage. But he’s got you doing all that, I bet.’ She snorted.
‘He hasn’t “got me” doing anything,’ I said. ‘We don’t do anything I don’t like.’
‘Ugh, you mean you like that stuff? Really? You’re not just doing it for him?’
‘I’m not going to go into detail, Tilda – I’m just going to repeat that we don’t do anything I don’t like.’
‘How can you enjoy being
treated like a…I don’t know…his bitch? I thought you were a feminist.’
‘I am a feminist. I’m not his bitch. It’s just what we’re both into.’
Tilda glowered at me for a moment, pushing her chair back so that it scraped the floor.
‘No wonder he stopped making his booty calls,’ she said. ‘Now he’s got someone to bend over and take all that shit from him. What a beautiful relationship you must have.’ She laughed bitterly. ‘He gets what he wants, and you take what you can get.’
‘That sounds more like your arrangement,’ I said, her open disgust at my sexuality unleashing my catty side.
‘I love him,’ she replied vehemently, leaning back towards me. ‘I mean, loved. I mean, oh shit, I don’t know what I mean. This is all too fucked up. I’m going home.’
She staggered off, trying to hide the sob that shook her shoulders.
‘Tilda! Don’t just run off!’
I got up to follow her, but she turned around and waved me back, her other hand over her face. All I could do was watch her run along the quay to the carpark, through the first fat drops of a cloudburst.
I pulled out my phone to text her, but there was already a message from Tom on the screen.
Where are you? Are you OK?