Page 23 of Fool Me Twice

“Shagathon?”

“Yes, you and the Lycra King, next door. ‘Yes, Matt, yes, yes,’” he mimicked. “That’s all I heard, all bloody night.”

“Really?” She drummed her fingers on her arm, waiting for him to elaborate.

“Yes.” He nodded, his lips pursed like a sulky child. “Really.”

“And that’s your business, how?”

“It’s, well... er, I guess it’s not.”

“So, what are you whining about, then?”

“Because your carry-on kept me awake all night. And I need to rest. Isn’t that what you all keep telling me? How can I rest when all I could hear was you begging him to go ‘harder’ and that bloody headboard pounding against the wall all night? Bang, bang, bang.”

“What are you, like, a hundred?” she exploded. “‘I need my beauty sleep, but the selfish neighbours next door kept me awake with their noisy sex. Boohoo.’ Is that it?”

“I didn’t say that—“

“Then what did you say, Peter? Huh?” She spread her arms wide, failing to understand what had got him so worked up. “Because all I can hear is some grumpy old whinger whining on because someone was getting laid.”

“I did not—“

“Maybe if you got laid once in a while,” she spat, feeling the anger course through her, “you wouldn’t be so bloody miserable.”

“Look.” He swallowed hard. “All I’m asking is, next time, can you keep it down a bit?”

“In case you’d forgotten...” she said sharply, glaring at him through narrowed eyes. “This is my house. Mine. It’s not some hotel where the staff run around after you, obeying your every command. This is my house, and I will have sex as loud and as often as I please, okay?”

“Yes, but—“

“But nothing.” Her hand sliced through the air, brooking no argument. “My house, my rules. Got it, Mr Rock Star?”

Evie slammed the door shut behind her, then leaned against it to catch her breath. Who the hell did he think he was, telling her what to do in her own home? It wasn’t like he’d paid for it, either. Everything she had was down to her own hard work and determination, and she would be damned if she let anyone tell her what she could and couldn’t do there.

The feel-good mood she’d woken up in had evaporated and it was all Peter’s fault.

Taking a couple of deep, steadying breaths, she made her way back to the studio for her next class.

She wondered who the lucky lady was who’d kept Matt’s bed warm last night.

The class seemed to drag and Evie’s mind kept drifting, but luckily most of her students had been with her for years and knew the movements off by heart. Peter had some nerve telling her what to do in her own home.

What did it have to do with him, what she did, or who she did it with?

He had to go.

As soon as the class was over, she called Jan to ask for the name of the private hospital her aunt had stayed at. She fired up her laptop and checked it out online.

It looked okay, she decided, clicking through the gallery. A little dated maybe, and lacking some luxuries that Peter would expect, but it looked clean, and most of the patients in the photos looked elderly, so there’d be no danger of him being kept awake by any noisy sex.

But why couldn’t she bring herself to call the number on the screen, if it looked so good?

Opening a new tab, she typed in “private hospitals”, followed by “places to recuperate” and several other word chains, but none of the places thrown up were quite right.

Then she stumbled across “Lamasery”. A converted nunnery set in acres of lush green countryside, and if the photos were anything to go by, Lamasery had more whistles and bells than she could shake a stick at. Billed as the “perfect place to reclaim your physical and mental wellbeing”, it made her feel very tempted to check in for a little R&R herself.

That it was a couple of hundred miles away, across the other side of the country, was also a plus, since she wouldn’t be expected to visit often.

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