Page 29 of CowSex

“Material Girl” by Madonna starts to play.

“I’m from Essex, Cowboy. And about as far from a duchess as you’re ever likely to meet,” I tell him.

“Essex? You have an Essex in England?”

“We do, and I think you’ll find ours was around way before yours.”

“At least they talk a language that resembles English in our Essex.”

“That’s debatable.”

He tosses my Womanizer onto the bed.

“Pass me what you want hanging, and I’ll hang it for you.”

Without another word, we set to work.

IT TAKES ABOUT A HALFhour to unpack all my stuff. Aside from asking about how many pairs of shoes I bought and for clarification on why I needed silver, pink, and gold Doc Martins, he didn’t say much. Though, he had also made a crack about a tutu he found in the second suitcase he opened. Apparently, he couldn’t figure out exactly why I would think I would need it. Men. They have no imagination.

He hung my dresses, jeans, and blouses before folding all of my hoodies, jumpers, and T-shirts for me.

I left my knickers and bras in my suitcase, not wanting to shock him anymore after his reaction to Vance, and one-handedly carried my shoes into the dressing room and lined them up.

I’m putting my toiletries in the bathroom cupboard when he appears in the mirror behind me.

“Connie Francis?” he questions.

I nod. “‘Lipstick on Your Collar’ is the first song I put on my first ever iPod.” I’ve never told anyone that.

“Grandad’s influence?”

I nod again.

He moves to sit on the closed toilet lid and watches me unpack. “He had great taste in music.”

“He was my hero.”

“Your dad not around?”

I look down at the drawer I’m putting my face wipes and moisturisers in and concentrate on what I’m doing for a few seconds.

“No, he took off not long after I was born.”

“He stay in touch at all?”

I shake my head. “Nah, my mum says he came back a few times, but I don’t remember him.”

We have another one of those moments of silence while our eyes remain locked in the mirror.

I pass him a pack of wipes. “Put them over there next to the toilet somewhere.” He turns the packet from side to side.

“What are they?”

“Wipes. Don’t worry, they’re flushable.”

“Wipes?”

“Yeah, ya know. When bog roll’s not enough, and you wanna feel fresh and clean. And bog roll’s toilet roll before you ask.”