‘Well, that’s good,’ I said.
But at the back of my mind, I was annoyed with myself. Why had I spun her that Fifty Shades line? It wasn’t true – I hadn’t even read the book. Was I so afraid of properly opening up about my sexuality that I had to construct an alternative version of it?
‘My tops are Ryan, Chris and Maria,’ she continued. ‘I think they’ll all be there, probably. Ryan is ex-army, a few years older than me, works as a mechanic now. Really nice, down-to-earth guy, but he has the heaviest hand I’ve ever known! Chris is an accountant, fifties, divorced. Actually, he might not be here, if it’s his weekend to take the kids out. Maria is a pro-Domme but all her customers are male and she’s gay, so she’s on the scene to get a few girls over her knee.’
‘Wow,’ I said, then even more awkwardly, ‘Cool.’
She laughed at my pretence of worldliness.
‘It’s mind-blowing at first,’ she said sympathetically. ‘But it isn’t a different world. Everyone’s human. Don’t be scared. Just be yourself and accept the others for who they are. Easy!’
Being myself was not easy. I had to be somebody else – the investigator, the mole. Even with Tom there, I’d be on edge. Especially with Tom there. And that reminded me.
‘Actually, the thing that really pushed me into making this move,’ I said, hardly daring to look at her, ‘was a blog.’
‘A blog? Oh, there are hundreds of them now, aren’t there? I tend not to have time to follow them.’
‘Oh, but this one…I get the feeling it’s by somebody local. Just the places she mentions. Made me realise kinky people are everywhere – even here.’
‘Really?’ Katie looked only vaguely interested.
‘You might even know her. She blogs as Mia Culpa.’
Katie shrugged. ‘That won’t be her real name, obviously.’
‘Oh…well, no. Obviously.’
I was deflated. If Katie knew – or even was – Mia, she didn’t want me to know it.
She dropped her spoon on to the table with a clatter and reached for her bag.
‘Well, then, if we don’t want to be late…’
‘What happens if we’re late?’ I asked, gulping down the last few mouthfuls of macchiato.
‘You don’t want to know,’ said Katie with a wicked grin, followed by a wink.
I followed her out of the place, with a quick crane of my neck in Tom’s direction. He watched us over the rim of a menu. He didn’t get up straightaway, but then I supposed he didn’t want to break cover.
‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ she asked me as we made the short trip across the piazza that led to the pub. It was a bright, sharp autumn day. Shoppers and skateboarders and kids crowded around us, making my mission seem more incongruous than ever. Here was real life, a concept that sat badly with underground sado-masochism.
‘Sure,’ I replied, almost overwhelmed by an urge to look back for Tom in the crowd. I managed to quell it, but only just. ‘Why not?’
‘Why not indeed,’ she said musingly. ‘Fair enough.’
The Plough was in a narrow, dark street of old, somewhat neglected, buildings on the hill that led down to the river basin. It felt like entering a different world; from the bright and open to the secretive.
Two bikers sat at an outdoor table smoking. One of them nodded at Katie as she passed.
‘Is he one of them?’ I whispered.
She nodded and pushed the door open. I was entering the Secret Society. I had made it.
The Secret Society was a pretty standard pub interior with dark wooden beams and chalkboards everywhere. It was quiet – just a few old fellows nursing pints of bitter at the bar – until we walked through an archway into a skittle alley.
Nobody was playing skittles, but the large deal table at the far end of the room was colonised by about a dozen people, all so absorbed in their talk and laughter that they didn’t notice Katie and me until we were upon them.
My efforts to register each member of the group weren’t too successful – I was aware only of a blur of different impressions. A flowery blouse, a Biblical beard, a very toothy smile. They didn’t look kinky. They looked like any collection of office staff out for lunch on dress-down Friday.