My phone bleeps and I try to peer through the blur to read the message. It’s from Dimitri. My heart leaps and I suppose I probably blush like a fool.
‘You meet me tomorrow?’ it says.
‘Sure. When and where?’
‘Meet me 12 mid of day outside the Kinky Cupcake.’
‘OK xxx.’
I wait a moment to see if he will send me anything more, with the crucial kisses, but he doesn’t, so I sigh mildly and put my phone away.
‘Who was that?’ Anton is frowning.
‘Just a mate. From home.’
‘No it isn’t. Your eyes did that looking up to the left thing that’s meant to be a classic sign of a fib.’
A plague on pop psychology and body language analysis.
‘Anton.’ I’m surprised and a little perturbed at how much this seems to matter to him. ‘It’s personal. OK?’
‘You’ve got a boyfriend,’ he accuses. ‘You went all misty and pink. You’re in love. Who is he? Not Dale from upstairs or I’ll puke.’
‘Jesus, no! Look, I’m too tired for this. I’m going. Thanks for the coffee. Have a good weekend.’
I sail off with my handbag clutched to my chest before he can argue.
* * *
The next day is rainy so I hurry along the Shoreditch alleyways with my umbrella and raincoat. Only I know that underneath the waterproof veneer, I am wearing only a swishy jersey dress and stockings. If going commando is good enough for Dimitri …
To my relief and near-surprise – because I was starting to wonder if I’d dreamed him – he stands in the archway of the Kinky Cupcake door. No umbrella, fatally wounded leather jacket the only thing standing between his rangy body and the elements. His moustache drips when he kisses me an enthusiastic hello.
‘This is London,’ I tell him. ‘It rains.’
‘Oh, rain.’ He shrugs vaguely. ‘It’s nothing. In Moscow right now is first winter snow.’
‘You’re a tough cookie,’ I say, swooning slightly at his manly disregard of the weather.
‘No.’ He points one finger at the dark brick behind us. ‘I am a kinky cupcake. Shall we go in?’
‘OK.’
We nod to the doorman and head up to the café, which is half full of damp Saturday shoppers popping in for their quota of rubber and depravity before the football scores. Actually, a rubber outfit would be good in this weather. Maybe I should get one.
‘So,’ I open, bringing coffee and Danish pastries to the table, ‘what are we doing here?’
‘I book a room,’ says Dimitri, teeth flashing as he smiles his wicked smile.
‘You booked a room? Here?’
‘Yeah. I need to practise my skills for my new career.’
‘Oh, that.’ I bite my lip. I still can’t quite believe he means to go through with it. ‘Is it expensive? To rent the room?’
‘I pay for an hour. Is quite expensive, but yesterday I find a job for while I wait for good-paying clients.’
‘Good idea. What’s the job?’