Free The Uninvited by Liz Jensen Page B

hasn’t had an orgasm, and although she at first declines my offer to give her one, she then changes her mind and guides my hand and my movements. Every woman seems to have her own bespoke requirements here, and I consider it polite to pay heed to this. They generally appreciate my respect for the rules of reciprocity.
    Afterwards, she suggests we have dinner together, but I decline.
    ‘Sorry. In other circumstances I would, but tonight I have to work.’
    ‘I could come by later when you’ve finished. Stay the night.’ Perhaps she wants another orgasm.
    ‘No, that’s not possible.’ Here I switch to English because I lack the vocabulary I need. ‘I have RLS. That’s an acronym for Restless Leg Syndrome. It means I kick women. In bed. By accident, of course.’ I switch back to German. ‘Don’t worry,’ I reassure her, as she finishes dressing. ‘We don’t need to see each other again.’
    Her mood must have shifted because her smile vanishes. I’ve observed this before with women, post-sex. They want to linger, but they can’t spell out why.
    ‘Do you make a habit of this?’
    ‘No, but I’d like to,’ I tell her. ‘It’s just that I’m not good at being with other people for long. I know I don’t have—’ Once again I can’t find the German term I need, which annoys me. So I say it in English. ‘People skills.’
    She switches to English. ‘I noticed.’ She is fiddling with a silver bangle on her wrist, decorated with a pattern of feathers. Indian, at a guess. I realise I have probably hit the wrong note again, but I don’t know how to remedy it. I haven’t memorised the phrases for it in any language. ‘Tell me,’ she says, ‘isn’t a problem with social interaction quite a handicap in your field? Didn’t you say you were an anthropologist?’ Her English is far superior to my German. I must take the time to study harder.
    ‘When it comes to gauging human behaviour, it’s an asset. It’s like colour-blind people being deployed by the military to detect camouflage,’ I reply. ‘They look for the shapes rather than the colours.’ This line is tried and tested.
    Her features relax into a more forgiving configuration. All of a sudden, she seems to understand. Usually they do. I reach for my laptop and fire it up. She stands in the doorway watching me for a long time, just as Kaitlin used to.
    At some point she gives up on me and leaves the room.
    Kaitlin did that too. It was always a relief.
     
    It’s only later on, when I’m setting my phone alarm, that I see the text that interrupted sex with the demographer.
    You have left Freddy very confused. He’s not your son and you are out of his life now. If you want the best for him, then please leave him in peace and let’s all move on.
     
    Kaitlin Kalifakidis is a lawyer: we met on a case. I was instantly attracted to her. I liked her Greek surname, but it was her wild hair that struck me most. It seemed messy and a little unprofessional, given her sober job. Even tied up, there was – and is – a huge amount of it. So that’s what I registered first: that confusion of Burnt Cedar hair piled high. I liked her mouth. The full lips, lipsticked a good, forceful red. Wide-set, animated eyes, a small neat body. There are certain colours I dislike intensely, so it suited me that she was largely a monochrome dresser. Blacks, whites and shades of cream or beige: she wore nothing that shouted. Everything was discreet and suited her. The only bright colour was on her lips: the rest of her make-up was a variation of her own hair colour and skin tones. ‘Easier to make decisions,’ she explained once. ‘Anyway clothes should showcase you. Not the other way round.’ I liked that in her: the choice to limit her wardrobe to what worked, and ignore fashion. Her practicality.
    When the case was over she told me she found me very attractive and invited me out to dinner. Over this meal I learned she’d been brought up bilingual, so I tried out