Free Three Steps Behind You by Amy Bird Page A

she says again.
    ‘Good.’ I turn to the barman. ‘Actually, mate, make that a bottle. Of champagne. And two glasses. Ally, go and find us a table, and we’ll talk some more about your mother.’
    Luke pours the girl another drink. ‘You must have some too,’ she protests. ‘It’s like you’re trying to get me drunk!’
    ‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ Luke murmurs, close to her ear.
    She places a hand on his thigh and he feels …
    nothing.
    Sitting at our table booth, Ally is asking me a chain of inane questions.
    ‘What do you do, Luke?’ she asks.
    ‘I’m a researcher.’
    ‘Oh, what, like for a film company? Cool. What are you working on now?’
    ‘People.’
    ‘Oh, who’s that by?’
    ‘Me,’ I say.
    ‘Oh, wow, so it’s your own film? That’s so cool. So, like, what’s it about?’
    ‘Getting close to someone.’
    ‘Cool. So, like right now, you could be researching me,’ she says.
    ‘Less you, more what you represent.’
    ‘And what do I represent, Mr Artiste?’
    ‘Femininity.’
    ‘Wow. That’s so … That’s really nice, Luke.’ She moves a bit closer to me along the bench, until our bodies touch. ‘Wow, you’re really … I bet there’s a six-pack under there!’
    I shrug.
    ‘I’ll show you yours if I’ll show me mine,’ she giggles. ‘No! Wait! That’s wrong.’ She starts again, speaking slowly and deliberately. ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.’
    ‘What, here, in this bar?’ I ask. She seems less concerned about public perceptions than Adam.
    ‘Go one, give us a flash!’ she giggles.
    ‘Shouldn’t we go somewhere more private?’ I ask.
    ‘What kind of girl do you take me for?’ she asks.
    ‘The sort that likes looking at naked men,’ I say.
    ‘Is there any other?’ she asks.
    ‘Maybe some like looking at naked women,’ I say.
    ‘I can be into that too, if you’d like me to,’ she offers. ‘Oh my God! Listen to me. We’ve only just met. Joking, joking. Sorry. Look, I don’t need to see your abs, sorry.’
    ‘You could just touch them then. No one would see.’
    I take her hand and run it over my abdomen, over my shirt, keeping my eyes fixed on hers. She makes a small murmuring noise. I have kept her touch light, but she presses more firmly.
    ‘I work out too, you know,’ she says.
    ‘Really?’ I ask.
    ‘Yes. Do you want to feel?’
    ‘Are you sure?’ I ask.
    ‘Go on.’
    She takes my hand and guides it to her torso, running it between the pink and silver stripes on her top. She is tiny, and I feel ribs, not muscle.
    Luckily I don’t have to comment because she kisses me. Gently, lightly, then breaks away. Then she kisses me again, and I feel her tongue dart into her mouth. I dart mine back.
    When we move away from each other, she puts my hand on her heart.
    ‘It’s racing,’ she says.
    ‘Mine too,’ I say, but I don’t let her touch it.
    We each take a sip of our drinks.
    ‘So I think you said you live nearby, Ally?’ I say.
    ‘Maybe. But you’re not coming in,’ she says. ‘Not tonight, anyway.’
    Oh. She is playing hard to get too, like Olivia did, in the common room. Like Adam always does.
    ‘May I at least escort you home?’ I ask.
    She giggles. ‘You’re so posh.’
    Sliding off the bench and out of the booth, I bow and hold out my hand to her. Giggling, she takes my hand and slides off the bench after me. A bouncer opens the door for us. I turn my face away.
    It’s cold outside, so I take off my jacket and put it round her shoulders, like I’ve seen Adam do with Nicole. And with Helen. Although there was probably too much of her ever to feel the cold. As we walk, I learn Ally works in the post-production team at a TV company, likes butterscotch ice-cream, plays the clarinet, and recently split up with her boyfriend.
    ‘I may be on the rebound,’ she giggles.
    When we get to her building, a block in Old Compton Street, I note. Opposite an off-license.
    ‘This is me,’ she says, stopping.
    ‘The