Chapter One: A New Career
At last Midge had found the perfect career. Freelance proofreading and copy-editing for Lusty Books, a romance imprint of GBH Inc International, the biggest conglomerate in the world, publishing a thousand authors a year under a hundred imprints in two hundred countries.
Her co-ordinating editor at Lusty was Justin. She Zoomed him every Friday. Single, from her research. Dark. Possibly Greek. Delicate hands. She always noticed hands. A voice like torn cotton. And lips? Yes, he had lips.
Man in Mind was her latest commission from Lusty. About 300 pages from the genius of romance Evelina Chou-Fleur. What an honour for a newbie like Midge. Midge, to whom entitlement was a stranger. As much of a stranger as romance. Since Teddy left three months ago for a cruise ship double gig with Carl her life had been in tatters. Just her and Mr Sunshine, her British Blue.
But now at least her career was established. Eight years since UEA now. A succession of dull admin jobs in a meat packing plant near home in Kidderminster. A year as a trainee librarian. A flirtation with the probation service. Now the perfect job. Her love of books. Her ambition one day to be a writer. To work on real books by famous authors. A dream.
Six hours today. Eighty pages. £150. Tired, she signed out, shut her laptop. Took off her glasses, rubbed her eyes and made for the kitchen and the kettle.
Chapter Two: Proofs of Lust
Four years with Teddy – limp, but kind Teddy. She should have guessed he was bi. Why didn’t he tell her? It was 2020 after all. She would have accepted it. Understood. Or would she? How could she ever know? And his mother, living alone now in Bracknell. A woman who had become her friend. Would she see her again? Enjoy her warmth, her empathy? And Carl. Oh God, Carl. The ripped hunk who had seduced – yes, seduced – her on that summer evening last year. Did Teddy know? Was Teddy watching from the hut by the woods? Was this their game? Was she a silly little pawn in their erotic power play.
Midge reached for her mug. The cat mug. His Hockney mug she’d smashed the night she scissored the clothes he’d left in his oh-so-tidy drawers. Coffee, no milk. And a biscuit. Chocolate.
The doorbell. She had installed an entryphone when Teddy left. Though she couldn’t imagine him dealing with an intruder. To answer or not to answer? Probably Jim from the bookshop. Another mother’s boy. Polite, but insistent. Would she like a coffee at Nero’s, a drink at The Dodgy Lobster, an evening with him and his mother in mock Tudorland. Another time, Jim, but thanks. Have to take Mr Sunshine to the vet. He’s limping. Yes, a shard of crockery in his paw.
It rang again. He knew she was in. He was stalking her. The creep. She pressed the switch. Yes, there he was walking away. Leave me alone! He turned briefly at the gate.
Not Jim, no. Taller. Dark. And his beautiful, delicate hand on the gatepost.