Read Online State We're In by Adele Parks - Free Book Online

to have two before I am forty. Just. A tight schedule but it isn’t unimaginable. I have a tendency to think in double negatives; it’s the closest I ever get to a positive these days.
    But this time,
this time
I think there really is something to get excited about, because there is one thing I remember with crystal clarity from last night. Something he whispered to me after the second bout of lovemaking. He said, ‘You’re just the sort of girl I should marry.’
    Men don’t say that sort of thing lightly. He has to have meant it.
    And the sex. The sex was phenomenal. I really have never, ever experienced anything like it. Just thinking about it causes a fleeting spike of excitement between my legs. It was so … I search for the exact word to describe the marathon session we enjoyed. My head is still a bit fuzzy. What
is
the perfect word? It was so … energetic.
    I really need to pee. Carefully I inch the duvet aside and edge out of the bed. I glance around, hoping to locate his robe so that I can cover up. No matter how acrobatic I was last night, in the cold light of day my body demands sanctuary. I can’t see a robe, nor is there a jumper or hoodie flung across the back of the bedroom chair. I have no alternative but to dash naked into the bathroom.
    The bathroom is a delight! It looks like it has sprung from a magazine. He must have a cleaner. He can afford a cleaner! I know it is shallow to care, but the idea of having a boyfriend with an income that allows him to employ a cleaner is fantastic. I’ve spent far too many ‘dates’ cleaning the homes of various exes. To start with it is always smart restaurants and a club, then a couple of weeks down the line it’s often a trip to the cinema and a bag of popcorn, and before I know it, I’m lucky to be watching a DVD from the sofa. I try to tell myself that dates that consist of me scouring ovens or defrosting freezers are intimate and domestic, part of a real relationship, but in my heart of hearts I know that I’m simply being taken advantage of.
    The towels are sharply folded and stacked in a precise tower on the shelf near the enormous walk-in shower, there are tea-light candles lined up like soldiers along the basin and the end of the loo roll is folded into a triangle. I have only ever seen that done in hotels before. This place is amazing! I want to hug myself. Instead I pee, and as I wash my hands I force myself to confront my reflection. There was once a time when a long night of sex meant that I sparkled the next morning. Nowadays, such antics are more likely to lead to bulky blue bags under my eyes. I splash water on my face and look round for some cleanser or soap. There isn’t any. In fact, there aren’t any bottles of lotions and potions at all. Not lined up on the windowsill or stashed in the cabinet. There is a cabinet but it’s empty, pristine.
    Pristine like the candles that have never been lit. I quietly make my way through to the kitchen. Something about this place is a bit off, a bit weird, but without coffee I am not up to puzzling it out. The kitchen-diner is as immaculate as the bathroom. The laminate floors and all the surfaces shine; the taps and windows twinkle and the many scatter cushions are plump and smooth. There is a full set of gleaming crockery set out on the dining room table, as though Jeff is waiting for imminent dinner guests. The room makes me think of Miss Havisham’s wedding breakfast, except these dishes are clean and polished rather than covered in cobwebs and vermin. But who is Jeff expecting?
    I need coffee to think. I open the cupboard above the kettle, but it’s empty. I’d expected a jar of instant coffee granules and a box of breakfast tea bags, at the least, though the apartment is so stylish I wouldn’t have been surprised to find coffee beans, filter papers and three different herbal teas.
    â€˜We’ll have to go out for coffee, of