Page 126 of The Man Upstairs

“Same in return. Rosie’s had plenty of nice things to say about Lola. I’m very happy for them. She’s an artist, yes? Rosie’s seen some of her work. She says it’s exceptional.”

“It is, yeah. She’s fantastic, always blows me away. She takes in every single thing she can from art college and makes it a bloody masterpiece. I just wish I’d done the same when I was her age. I might still be shit, but I’d have had a chance at getting better.”

“Do you still give it a go?”

“Sometimes. I show Lola most of it, but some bits I don’t.”

I knew that feeling. It was another round of mutual territory between us.

The girls laughed loudly enough from the living room that we heard them over the steaks sizzling. Peter grinned as he heard it.

“Thanks for having us here, seriously. It’s ace. Just what we needed.”

“Touché. You’re very welcome.”

I looked at him once I’d flipped the steaks again, imagining how freeing it would be to see Peter and Lola out in public together without the confines of the estate that had boxed them in. Not in Crenham, with the same judgemental attitude, but far away. Somewhere more cosmopolitan.

Maybe I could arrange some time away, for all four of us. I’d talk to Rosie about it.

Dinner was a delight. The drink flowed and the steaks were devoured, and Peter smiled proudly as I told Lola what a fantastic chef’s assistant he’d been.

“I’ll be remembering that,” she giggled, gesturing at him with her wine glass. “You’ve made a rod for your own back, now. You can be peeling potatoes in the kitchen with me.”

Somehow I doubted it would be a rod for hisownback he’d be making. I could already see the hunger he had in his eyes for the little minx sitting opposite him. His sexuality was definitely a beast, enlivened by the whisky, as was mine. Rosie was shooting me glances of her own, and it was clear that the girls had been talking dirtily about us while we’d been busy in the kitchen. The sexual tension was intense. I knew the question was coming from Rosie before she even spoke.

“Can Lola read some of your chapters, Julian? She’d really like to.”

“Yeah, I would. Please,” Lola chimed in. “I love that kind of thing.”

“Filthy erotica, you mean?” I said, with a smirk. “My chapters are very hardcore. I’m sure you know that already, though.”

“Yeah, I do.” She laughed. “It’s why I want to read it even more.”

Peter nudged my elbow. “Let her read a load of it, please. I’ll get the benefits back home later.”

I still felt slightly strange about the idea as I sipped at my whisky. Letting Lola read my writing would feel as though I was being exposed, somehow. Not from the content per se, but from the exposure of my emotional and creative process.

“Go on, Julian,” Rosie pushed. “Say yes!”

Her wine drunk eyes were so imploring. Her voice so sweet.

“How could I ever refuse you anything?” I said, then looked at Lola. “Yes, you can read some of my chapters. I’d be honoured.”

That sealed the deal. As soon as we’d finished up the apple and blackberry crumble I’d made for dessert, I cleared the table with Peter’s help and set up my laptop for Lola. My nerves were uncharacteristically thrumming as she devoured the pages with Rosie alongside her, as though I was awaiting a jury verdict.

One word said it all, when she was done with the very first scene.

“Wow!”

“You enjoyed it?” I asked her, and her nod spoke volumes.

“Enjoyed it?! It’s fucking amazing.” She clapped her hands together. “More, please! I know you’ve got loads of them.”

“Alright,” I said, and called up the next.

Peter and I sat on the chesterfield as the girls read and chatted. I got so many thumbs up and mini rounds of applause, that I became heady on both whisky and satisfaction. I could have played it down as nothing more than two friends having fun and reading hot sex between them, but Lola’s comments and praise were based around more than that – just as Rosie’s were. The pair of them would quote lines that stood out in particular, admiring my prose. They commented on everything from pace, to characterisation, to tension and tiny details. All of which meant a lot.

It seemed that teaching others had most certainly had an impact on my own strengths as a writer. What a welcome benefit.