The offer struck Jenna as hilarious and she couldn’t help giggling, close to hysteria.
‘Look,’ she said, pushing her sunglasses back down over her eyes. ‘If I was to say I wanted a very basic model – it’s a joke present for a hen night, you see. I don’t want to spend a fortune.’
‘Oh well, you probably want this, then.’
The sales clerk picked a plain, plastic flesh-coloured number.
‘Three speeds, only five pounds.’
‘I’ll take it. Thanks.’
‘Can I help you with anything else?’
‘Oh no, I think I can manage from here.’
The sales clerk turned to go, then stopped and glanced back at her. Jenna knew that look. The ‘where have I seen you before?’ look.
She scuttled hurriedly to the back of the room, making it clear that further conversation was not an option.
Ah. Now here was something else on her list. The flogger. And what a lot of interesting company it had. Hanging on hooks, from ceiling to floor, were a cascade of disciplinary implements, from slender, mean-looking riding whips to sweet little heart-shaped, fur-backed leather paddles. One of those might be nice, actually. She picked it up and stroked the fluff. Another had letters cut out to form the word ‘SLUT’ on the recipient’s skin. Beside them, a scarier range of leather straps in varying lengths and thicknesses made her both shudder and thrill. How would they feel? She weighed one in her palm and found it heavy, but supple. That would hurt a lot.
At the end, the canes stood menacingly in an umbrella stand, price tags tied around their whippy shafts. The floggers were arranged above them.
Jason had said she should go for a light one with suede thongs. She found the perfect specimen, with a thick handle and strands of purple suede so whispery soft she couldn’t for the life of her imagining it hurting at all. It felt delicious as she dragged it across her palm, a promise, a caress. She looked forward to experiencing it on another part of her and she closed her eyes to picture Jason in the act of using it.
What if she bought Jason something to wear? But all the costumes seemed to be for women, unless they were harnesses or gimp masks, which hardly seemed right. She wanted something sleek and form-fitting but manly – not the sort of thing that would make her want to laugh at him. She’d have to look elsewhere for that, though.
There was something else on the list – what was it? She thought and thought, and then she looked up and saw. Cuffs. All kinds of cuffs. Velcro, metal, leather – what to go for?
She opted for a kit that described itself as ‘Perfect For Bondage Beginners’, containing a set of black velvet cuffs and an eyemask. It would have to do. She had spent long enough here and expected the sales clerk to burst back through the door, shouting, ‘Oh, now I’ve placed you!’ at any moment.
She took her goods to the counter, annoyed to find a pair of new customers in, riffling through the racks of frilly knickers and nighties. Luckily, they didn’t bat an eyelid at Jenna’s armful but carried on loudly discussing the disgusting service they’d had in another shop.
The sales clerk rang it all through without comment but, as she put the items in a bag, she said, ‘Have you seen our hen night extras? These are popular.’
She pointed to a display behind her, of L-plates and scratchy lace veils and the like.
Jenna shook her head and snatched her bag.
‘I’m fine,’ she said, handing over her card to pay, realising too late that her old, married name was still on it.
The sales clerk said, ‘Ooh!’, then stopped short, seeming to understand Jenna’s mood. No further words were spoken, and Jenna made a rapid escape from the shop, the dingy mall and the generally grubby part of town they both inhabited.
Damn, she thought, taking refuge in the car and putting the brown paper bag of sex toys on the passenger seat. She’s going to tell all her friends I was in today, and what I bought and what I said … Oh God. Don’t panic. It’ll just be an anecdote for them. It won’t make front page news. They’ll have forgotten about it in a month.
While she worked on calming herself down enough to drive, she took out her phone and found an online men’s clothing store, where she ordered a smart black jacket and trousers for Jason, together with a pack of three crisp, white shirts. If he was going to flog her, he wasn’t going to do it in jeans or, worse still, trackie bottoms. He would have to look the part. A tie? Oh, why not. What about shoes, though?
She put the phone down, realising she didn’t know his shoe size, and drove off out of town.
From the ring road around Bledburn, the estate was visible; a nest of red-brick housing, in concentric circles like a child’s ball-in-a-maze game. At the centre, low-rise grey flats, the pub, the mini-market and the youth club. Perhaps she ought to call in on Kayley, give her a progress report about the bloody talent show.
Not today, though. Tomorrow. She cast her eye over the bag on the passenger seat and bit he
r lip. Whatever was going to happen at home, tonight, came first.
Clutching her paper bag, she ran up the front steps and let herself into the house. It was quiet, and motes of dust danced around in the late afternoon sunshine.
‘Jay?’