Bitter Sweet Read Online Free PDF Page A

the slight squeak coming from Ivonne’s shoes, then the door opening.
    ‘Hi,’ Ivonne said her voice bright and breezy. ‘Come in.’
    ‘You Ivonne?’ came the reply.
    I stared at the ceiling, listening to Ivonne’s chatter, distracting my mind from the upcoming task.
    As the gas boiler kicked into life I got up from the bed and stood beside the door, the memory stick ready in my hand with the array of connectors lying on the bed. The door handle moved, Ivonne’s hand appeared and I grabbed the phone.
    It was switched on – good. I placed it on the bed and looked at the power port, selected the correct adapter and connected it to the memory stick.
    The boiler shut off. I jerked my hand back and looked towards the door. I couldn’t see Ivonne. I stared at the door, all my senses on alert.
    Ivonne’s voice broke the silence. I couldn’t hear what she was saying; she must have been in the other bedroom. What little I could hear didn’t convey alarm. I turned back to the phone and started moving the adapter towards the power port. I stopped; my hands were shaking. I took a depth breath, and as I exhaled pushed the adapter into the phone.
    I felt panic rising as the phone’s screen sprang into life. A progress bar appeared on the screen. It started up. Twenty percent, thirty percent. The boiler fired up, making me jump. Forty percent. I was beginning to think I’d make it. Fifty percent. My hand was gripping the phone like a claw. Sixty percent. I was willing the thing across the screen. Eighty percent. The door swung in towards the frame an inch or two. I looked up, hoping it was Ivonne. No, a slight draft. Ivonne moving across the corridor? Ninety percent. Almost there.
    I readied my fingers to disconnect the adapter. Poised, I glanced at the door. The light coming in under the door altered. Jeez, that had better be Ivonne.
    She popped her head in, and smiled.
    I looked down to the phone’s display. The progress bar disappeared. The phone went blank. Oh shit. Had it installed? The screen glowed again. A message popped up; installation complete. 
    I breathed out, disconnected the phone and handed it to Ivonne. She spun on her feet and wiggled her ass at me. I collapsed on the bed. The tricky part was over. Now it was just a matter of waiting. But first I hid the memory stick in the formica wardrobe and put the adapters in the drawer of the bedside table.
    I settled myself on the bed, but soon the groans of pleasure coming from the room across the corridor broke into my thoughts. I began to wonder if Ivonne was putting on an act for my benefit. She’d asked me once if I would do a duo with her. I had refused, having done a duo only once. Somehow being with a client and another woman hadn’t gelled. I’d had the peculiar feeling of being an interloper. I knew it had all been an act – just like the noises now coming from Ivonne. Still, I felt as if I’d been butting in. I was embarrassed and a bit jealous when I wasn’t taking the lead and when I was, I was nervous that the other girl would criticise my technique. Nor did I like the idea of drinking from the furry cup.
    The groans of pleasure reached a crescendo – thank God he’d only booked a half hour. Now he’d get a massage and then I’d be out of here.
    The sound of a door crashing startled me. I sat upright, listening.
    ‘Where is he?’ the Albanian barked.
    ‘He’s not here,’ Ivonne’s stammered.
    The door to my bedroom flew inwards, smashing against the wall.
    The Albanian stood on the edge of the door frame, using Ivonne as a shield. I gasped at the sight of Ivonne teetering on her feet with one arm twisted behind her back. Worst of all, was the thin flick-knife pressed into her face, just below her right eye. My hand flew to my face. Ivonne was pinned, unable to come down off her toes, held viciously in position by the upward thrust the Albanian was exerting on her arm.
    A globule of blood formed on the point of the blade.
    ‘What the