Free The Twisted Heart by Rebecca Gowers Page A

followed her, and helped her—she picked up her bag and heard herself say, ‘Thank you for a lovely meal, I really must be off.’ It occurred to her that this was ludicrous from someone who’d done what she had that evening. Nevertheless, her assemblage of words succeeded in rendering the moment sufficiently formal that it felt as though they might almost shake hands.
    â€˜Well—thank you,’ said Joe; and then, leaning on the phrase slightly, he said it again, ‘Thank you.’
    Kit nodded and was already through the door when he added, ‘You’re all right? Should I see you home? I don’t know where you—’
    She glanced back at him and waved westwards. ‘I only live the other side of the Woodstock Road. I’m fine. Thanks.’ And before he could speak again, she had taken flight down his staircase in the manner of one of her exits from the Bodleian.
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    As she stepped out onto the street, Kit took a great gasp of chilly air. Farr, Christine Iris , frolicsome and rollicksome, bloody fucking hell, she thought. All she had done was to say ‘yes’ a couple of times, instead of no; but it was as though everything was her fault. What everything itself added up to, she still couldn’t say, except that her whole life felt like a meaningless screw-up.
    She sobered as she trod along in the cold. There were,she reflected, no rules. There was no one to ask. You made it up as you went. That was it. Precedent was bunk. Whose precedent? Everything was your own fault. So, she’d gone to a dance club, had danced with an unknown man, had, in the face of trenchant expectation, and to the seeming contempt of the other representatives of her sex, danced with him the wrong way round—after which, for no reason whatsoever, she had slept with him. Dressed up right, in another girl this could absolutely have sounded to Kit, well, sparky and adventurous.
    But in herself, it felt like the pits. There had been moments, as when he’d asked her about Oliver Twist : he had actually been listening. So, fine, she thought woefully, so he paid by listening to me gab.
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    A few minutes of padding along and she was home. She whacked the hall light button with her thumb. After you did this, the bulb remained on for exactly four minutes.
    â€˜Where have you been?’ Michaela stepped out of her room and pounced on Kit, successfully exuding an air of blame.
    â€˜Evening, Mum.’
    â€˜Come on.’
    â€˜I went, okay? I went. I went .’
    â€˜Seriously?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Hey, brilliant. Don’t tell me in those trousers. I don’t believe it. You’re the end. You look so pale. What happened?’
    â€˜If you must know, we ended up back at his place.’
    â€˜You’re joking me. Kit! After all the grief you’ve put me through?’
    â€˜I’ve put you through? Bloody hell.’
    â€˜Kit you—hey, wait a minute. You naughty girl. You didn’t just—?’
    â€˜Maybe.’
    â€˜Put that one away! What’s he like? Why didn’t you stay over? You’re a close one. How was it?’
    Kit smiled while trying to look arch, hoping by this means to convey sophisticated amusement—after which, feebly, she added, ‘It was great.’
    â€˜Good for you,’ cried Michaela.
    And because Kit’s mood was resistless, this made her grin.
    â€˜What’s he like?’
    â€˜It was great,’ said Kit wearily.
    Michaela narrowed her eyes. ‘Better than a slosh in the mush, I suppose.’
    You are, Kit thought, a small and irritating person—infuriating, even. Infuriating Michaela , you know nothing. I dislike you, thought Kit.
    â€˜Fancy you!’ said Michaela with a wink.
    Kit grinned again, absurdly fortified by this second-hand enthusiasm; then, once again, she wilted. In bored tones, she said, ‘I’ll give you your dress back