On Friday evening I met Claire at Waterloo Station. Together − but not as friends − we boarded the train to Paris. The thought of sitting next to her for two hours, only a thin arm rest between us, had occupied my mind all day. I realised this trip was just a ploy to fuck me for forty-eight hours, which is why I had been impatiently waiting for Claire since eight, and I got extremely cranky when our train was delayed by almost an hour. After she had left on Thursday evening I had stopped lying to myself and admitted, to my face in the mirror, that, yes, I wanted to fuck her. I had absolutely no interest in being Claire Burns’ friend, in drinking coffee with her and telling her tales about work and mutual acquaintances. I definitely had no interest in hearing her talk about her love life, the mere thought of seeing her with someone else wrapped an ice-cold fist around my heart. It wasn’t love, it wasn’t pure lust either, it was more an attempt to settle some unfinished business, to set things straight, even though what happened between Claire and I, the outlining of the rules and the subsequent abuse and misinterpretation of them, was something that could never be sorted out, especially not with sex. But I wanted her, from the second she had appeared in the club, like a figment of my imagination, an old dream come true, I had wanted to rip up every scrap of clothing she wore, and worship her seasoned, manipulated body.

I was fully aware that my weekend with Claire was costing me Lucy, but it was not something I could help or stop. It was dark when the train left the station and as I looked out of the window, I saw Claire’s face staring back at me. It was going to be a long ride. I could have asked her about New York, but I didn’t want to learn about her life after, and without me. Instead I answered her questions, and I told her about Jennifer, the only significant affair I had had since Claire. When I was done, she said,
“God Lee, you really don’t want to be happy, do you?”
“And you do?”
“I am happy. I know you never really believed in my way of life, but I’m happy with most of the choices I have made. You, on the other hand, have a serious penchant for falling for the wrong women.”
“You would know.”
“Oh, I was not the wrong woman for you, baby. It wasn’t always easy, but tell me, who has made you happier? Definitely not this Jennifer.”
“Do you have to be so self-righteous about it?”
“I’m too old to be modest.” I laughed then, Claire’s obnoxious amount of self-confidence was always more sexy than annoying.
“Tell me, honestly, what do you feel, right now, sitting next to me on this train to Paris?” I asked.
“I’m excited, grateful, a little bit nostalgic, and−” She paused for effect, and slipped her hand between my legs. “−incredibly horny.” Then she whispered in my ear, “Is that honest enough for you?”

She had dozed off then, allowing me to drink in her face and its overly smooth features for minutes on end. When we were almost at the Gare du Nord I kissed her cheek to wake her up. The smile on her face as she opened her eyes had me gasping for air for a second. If I didn’t know better, I could have sworn I was falling in love. Then she said, “Hey Lee, tell me about Lucy. What went wrong?”

To be continued…