She's not a smoker, well not in most circumstances. Her life isn't that traditional so the situation in which she finds herself isn't that surprising to her. At school reunions it might be a problem. Not that she'd go, the thought is horrific. People from her past. She contemplates this as her eyes alight on a pair of teenagers; the girl has crimped her hair and dresses like a Top Shop Madonna, the boyfriend is a knock off Simon Le Bon with spots and bum fluff. Was she ever that impressionable? Was he ever young and vulnerable too? She imagines that James bypassed adolescence, migrating from cute boy to a fuckable man overnight.
Her heels tap on the lino; bright shiny fuck-me shoes set against a scuffed, chequered floor. She pauses beside the basic health aisle and drops a packet of condoms - extra large - into the basket and waits at the check out. She stands nicely in line behind the tired mother, with her cantankerous child, study her. She is that woman in the fake fur coat and the red hooker dress. Black stockings, no knickers and a heart that's broken are the secrets she holds. She almost wishes she could say so, simply for the reaction it would yield and the thrill of impropriety.
So there she is under the strip lights of the mini market in a district of London that she's not that familiar with; the cab ticking outside as she buys a box of Silk Cut and a packet of condoms. There's a strong bottle of Scotch on the side and she wonders if that's overkill. It would look like a gift or a bribe; she dismisses it.
The man behind the counter - typically a middle aged man with an air of Sid James about him - bites back a smile and she sneers at him, handing over cash. She may as well burn it all to ash.
She is a good girl by nature. Dutiful friend, daughter and sister, with a respectable, mostly daytime, job. Occasionally she's played the part of girlfriend and wife. All week she wears the right clothes, and does the best she can at every demand thrown upon her. She wants to take it all off tonight, and discard them over his bedroom floor.
She can't recall a time when someone asked about how she felt, what she wanted until he asked once, and that was all it took. A few words asked, after a week of names and platitudes. She cannot wait to sit in a bar and sip at a bitter drink, pull him in and strip him to his basic self. Take all that he alluded to when she'd first set eyes on him.
She's going to savour all of it. Catalogue each sound, the feel and sight. Report it all back at polite dinner parties if asked about her weekend; Oh yes, very lovely. I was fucked into next Tuesday by this dangerous American I picked up. She's still a good girl, especially on her knees.
He did as she asked and arrives alone. Changed into a suit.
"Hello James..." She drawls and lets him light the cigarette, his hands shaking and his face hung with surprise and anticipation.