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Strangers get it on at a concert.

Majid didn't disappoint. Never mind the final furlong, he went the extra mile. And then, when she was gasping as much as he was, he pushed in deep and blasted. Half-withdrawing, he pushed in even deeper and did it again . . . and again and again, managing seven blasts in total.

Seven, my favourite number! Nice, nice, nice!

If she was being at all critical (and she wasn't), she might have noted that Majid's blasts were in much of a diminishing series. The same wasn't true for her orgasm. It built up in inverse proportion to his. Starting off big and getting better. By the time he was at last done she was euphoric.

Heather stayed where she was while Majid pulled everything up and refastened his trousers. No way could she put on her jeans and trainers with him sitting next to her. There wasn't room.

'Tissues?' she enquired as he let himself out of the back.

Sitting in the driving seat he passed her a handful of Kleenex. She wiped herself and the seat as best she could before passing back the mushy remnants.

'Don't look like that,' she said. 'Half of it is yours. And what time is it, anyway?'

'It's . . .' He looked at the clock on his dashboard. 'Oh shit, Hattie will be going ballistic.'

Heather re-dressed while Majid went to find a public bin. She was waiting beside the taxi when he returned. 'I should have asked earlier,' she said, 'but is there a Mrs Majid?'

'No,' she said, 'not yet.'

'Not yet?' She laughed. 'Let's stick with "no". Still on for Sunday?'

'Expect me at six on the dot.'

'I'd have a nap Sunday afternoon if I were you. You won't be sleeping again until Monday night.'

Adorable fool that he was, he laughed, obviously thinking that she was joking.

Chapter Twelve

(Friday 26th April 2002)

Heather was delighted to find Alex and Naz together on the settee. 'Made inroads on the brandy, I see. Is wine out of the question?'

'There's Chardonnay in the fridge,' said Naz.

'Should I fetch three glasses?'

'I'm sticking to the brandy,' Alex said, removing his face from Naz's chest.

Wow, thought Heather. She looks like she just won a wet T-shirt competition. And isn't she excited?

'I'll have one glass of wine,' said Naz. 'You can have the rest of the bottle.'

'What's with the frozen peas?'

'They're not frozen peas: they're a state-of-the-art treatment for black eyes. Feel free to put them back in the freezer while you're there.'

When Heather re-entered the lounge her two friends had unravelled themselves. They were still sitting side by side, though, closer than close. She handed Naz her medium-sized Chardonnay and tipped more Courvoisier into Alex's glass. Down from her sexual high, feeling a bit guilty about Majid (although not sure why she should be), she kicked off the conversation.

'Was it Spider?'

Alex hunched his shoulders. 'I dunno what they call him. He never introduced himself. One second I was talking to you, the next I was flat out in my hallway.' He turned to Naz. 'We were talking on the phone, you see.'

'I know,' said Naz. 'Heather's already told me. What happened next?'

'This enormous muscle freak was in my house, slamming the door behind him. I think I was stunned. I tried to defend myself but he'd got me cold. I couldn't even get up. Then he laced into me with both feet.'

'What did he look like?' Heather asked. 'Did he have tattoos?'

'Yeah, he had lots of tattoos. He was in a sleeveless T-shirt. I could see blue ink up his arm, over his shoulder, onto his neck.'

'Was it a web pattern?'

'I don't know. It could have been. That T-shirt had "Gold" on the front. That's a gym, isn't it?'

'Spider,' said Heather.

'Undoubtedly,' Naz agreed.

Really, really downbeat now, Heather said: 'Did he say what he wanted?'

'When he stopped kicking me he asked me who the fu- .

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