I'm on the train! Read Online Free PDF Page B

from the one they used in Romsey. It was smaller than the other rooms, but every bit as grand, and there were no big desks with computers on, where kind ladies stamped your books. And the books were different, too – brown, boring ones with no pictures in and far too many words. And it had sofas, like a sitting-room ; shiny-brown and made of the same stuff as shoes. And therewas a wooden sort of ladder-thing, which the man told her people used to reach the highest shelves. But there were no people in the room – just the two of them, alone.
    Even the waiter had gone, although first he’d brought them something called ‘liqueurs’, in two tiny, tiny glasses, as if he was being mean again. She had tried a sip, to please the man, but it tasted really horrid, so now he was drinking hers. All the drinks must have made him very hot, because there were little drops of sweat on his forehead; some rolling down his face and falling onto his shirt. He’d spilt pudding on his tie, but he didn’t seem to notice either the pudding or the sweat. She hoped he’d soon go home, or even go to sleep. They were sitting on a sofa and people sometimes slept on sofas, if they didn’t have a bed. But, suddenly, he leaned towards her and put his hand on her leg. The hand felt hot and damp and had fat veins on the top of it, like swollen, purple snakes.
    ‘Have I told you, Jo, what a gorgeous girl you are?’
    He’d told her four times – no, five. People never called her ‘gorgeous’; only ‘thick’. She took a gulp of coffee, which was bitter, like the liqueur, and very fierce and black. At Sunnyhill, coffee was made with just a dash of Nescafe and all the rest hot milk, but they didn’t have hot milk here, only cream. She poured some in, but it went all sort of furry and made the coffee cold. Even the sugar was odd: brown and gritty and hardly sweet at all. When she found her mother, they’d eat sweet things all the time.
    ‘Now, I hope you’ll forgive me asking, Jo, but there’s something I need to know.’
    She felt very frightened, suddenly. He was going to ask her if she’d run away and then he’d phone the home and tell them. But his voice went furry, like the coffee, and he spoke right into her ear, so that no one else could hear. Except no one else was there.
    ‘What I want to ask you, my little lamb, is whether anyone has ever made love to you? You know what I mean, Jo, don’t you? Have you ever had … sex?’
    She shook her head. Dave had got his thing out, once, but she hadn’t liked the look of it. It was red and sort of swollen, with a drop of spit at the end. And, another time, Joseph had shoved hishand down her front and tried to touch her breasts. But Miss Batsby had walked in and gone scarlet in the face with rage.
    ‘If only I were younger, darling, I could give you a wonderful time – something you’d remember all your life. Sex is the greatest of all pleasures known to man – or woman, for that matter. But you must be absolutely sure, Jo, to save yourself for someone worthy of you; someone with a lifetime of experience who knows what the hell he’s doing. The last thing you want is some fumbling young jackass, only intent on his own thrills.’
    He was holding her hand now, so hard it hurt her fingers. And his hand was hot and sweaty and made her own hand wet.
    ‘Although I say it myself, I’m an extremely tactile person, sweetheart . I know exactly how and where a woman likes to be touched.’
    She ought to move away, but he was gripping her hand too tightly. And, when he let it go, he began stroking his fat finger round and round her palm, so, even then, it wasn’t easy to get up. The finger felt tickly and horrid, like insects crawling over her skin.
    ‘I remember one of my ex-girlfriends saying to me once, “Lionel, you old charmer, I’m convinced you were a female in another life. You’re one of those rare men who completely understand what turns a woman on.” She was a right little