Husbands by Adele Parks Page A

didn’t expect to see her again. Three million people travel on the tube every day, it wasn’t even my usual line but as my old grandad used to say, ‘Never underestimate the lengths a woman will go to, to get what she wants.’ And Laura, it seemed, wanted me.
    This thought inspires me to do a little jump and click my heels mid-air. I make a mental note to execute this manoeuvre in front of Laura, if the opportunity arises or can be orchestrated. Women love it when you play around like a kid. I wonder if today I’ll get to show her that I can walk on my hands.
    I know she said her mate had tracked me down andshe’d been bullied along to the gig but that was rubbish. Where was the said mate, if that was the case? She was on her own last night. Not that I’m complaining. I think she’s all the more gutsy and rare because of her sleuth work.
    I put the key in the lock of my block of flats and bound up the stairs. I push open the door of my apartment quietly – I don’t want to wake Laura if she’s still asleep, with her young lad it’s unlikely she often gets the chance for a lie-in – but my caution is unnecessary. Instantly, I’m ambushed by signs of activity.
    The shower is gushing and Laura has found the MTV channel; she has the volume up far too high for this time of the morning – the bloke in the flat below mine will no doubt knock on the ceiling with a broom soon, as he does when I play MTV. I smile to myself. Further proof that Laura is a top lass.
    I start to cook breakfast. I warm the croissants in the oven and fling everything else into a pan with a glob of oil. I’m ridiculously nervous. I say ‘ridiculously’ because I’m reasonably used to entertaining ladies, and breakfast is the meal I most often prepare. I’m not being pathetically braggie when I say that, if I wanted to, I could bed a babe (or at least a non-moose) after every gig. The women in my audience rarely present much of a challenge. And if there is nothing that takes my fancy I have actual groupies as a back-up. Groupies are girls who sleep with me while pretending that they are sleeping with Elvis Presley. Obviously, a bit weird but some of them are very cute and humming a couple of lines of ‘Love Me Tender’ is a small price to pay in return for enthusiastic and no-strings-attachedsex with a cutie. It’s not that I’m a bastard. It’s biology. Few men would find it in their hearts (or their trousers) to say no.
    But Laura is different.
    Laura is a woman, not a girl. She knows how to have a laugh and yet after talking to her it is clear that her life is extremely serious. She’s like a mate but sexy too. A sexy mate. I’m already looking forward to introducing her to my mates because John will make her laugh (and last night I discovered just how cool it is when Laura laughs) and Dave will reflect well on me, he’s into the environment and saving whales and stuff, girls are impressed by blokes like that (they don’t go out with them, though). And the lads will be impressed with Laura. They’ll think she is funny and bright and cute. They’re bound to.
    ‘Hi.’ Laura interrupts my thoughts of her. I jump as though she’d caught me looking through some hardcore porn. The knock-on effect is that I almost drop the frying pan.
    ‘Hi,’ I manage, sounding a bit lame. I cough and wave a tea towel over the pan to give the vague impression that the fumes have affected my vocal chords. I try again and hope my voice doesn’t sound like a boy who is enduring his scrotum dropping. ‘Did you sleep well?’ I ask.
    Laura blushes. Honestly, she’s gorgeous. She puts me in mind of all those olde-worlde poems I read when I was studying English literature highers. Poems about coy mistresses who permanently wore the blush of a rose on their cheek. I used to think it was sloppy bollocks but now I see the attraction of shyness mixed with an almost imperceptible hint of wantonness.
    ‘Did we have sex?’ asks Laura. Hearing her say