Spin Cycle Read Free

father had died of a heart attack when Adam was twelve, leaving no life insurance and very little capital. When Stan, his father’s brother, discovered this, he started paying Adam’s school fees and put him through university. Despite the geographical distance, they’d always been close and Adam felt he owed Stan a great deal. When he phoned to say he was going into the hospital for a hip replacement and was there any chance Adam could take over the office for a few weeks, Adam had felt he was in no position to refuse.
    “We’ll speak on the phone every day. Believe me, Rachel, I’ll be busy, you’re busy. Four weeks will go in a flash.”
    “Yeah, I s’pose. But why you had to go to Manchester in the first place, I’ve no idea.”
    “Come on, you know precisely why. I went because, unlike you, I recognize a sound job opportunity when I see one.”
    A year ago, Adam’s best friend from dental school had offered him a partnership in his cosmetic dentistry practice in Alderley Edge with a million-pound-a-year turnover and he’d grabbed it like a shot.
    She grunted. “I know. I just miss you, that’s all. Look, don’t go back tonight. Please stay. It’s already past eleven. Tomorrow’s Saturday. What’s to go rushing back for?”
    “A mountain of VAT returns, that’s what. I’ve been putting it off for weeks. I’d love to stay, Rache, you know that, but I really do need to get back. Anyway, your mother and father are at your flat. I can’t bear doing it with them a few feet away on the sofa bed.”
    Rachel’s regular baby-sitter had let her down and her parents had offered to look after Sam, her ten-year-old son. Her father tired easily these days and didn’t like driving home from Crouch End to Chingford late at night, so when they baby-sat they invariably stayed over.
    “Plus I’m convinced your mother stays awake listening.”
    “Don’t be daft. Why would she listen?”
    “Rachel, your father is over seventy. He wears trousers with elasticized waists and shoes that do up with Velcro. His idea of excitement is allowing himself an extra Pepto-Bismol after dinner. If you lived with a man like that, wouldn’t you listen?”
    “Maybe,” she said. For a fleeting moment she could see Adam at seventy, soaking his loose change in biological detergent overnight and washing the rubbish before throwing it in the bin.
    She put out her arm and squeezed the inside of his thigh. He smiled back at her. A moment later she was trailing her fingers over the outline of his penis.
    “That’s nice,” he said softly.
    She felt his penis begin to stiffen.
    “I do love you, you know,” he said, stroking her head.
    “Yeah, me too. And listen, thanks for driving down to see my gig tonight. I really appreciate it.”
    “My pleasure . . . Rache, I know I seem a bit tough on you, but it’s only because I worry. I hate to think of you struggling like this. Why won’t you at least let me give you some money?”
    “I’ve told you before. Because I want to make a go of the comedy on my own. I refuse to live like some kept woman indulging a fantasy.”
    He shrugged. “OK. But when we’re married . . . which reminds me. We really ought to sit down and sort out a wedding date.”
    “We will. Soon. I promise.”
    “Rache, you’ve been saying that for months.”
    “I know. It’s just that I’ve been so taken up with the comedy, I haven’t had a moment to think about it. Look, we’ll talk about it when you get back from South Africa, OK?”
    He turned to look at her. “Rache, you do love me, don’t you?”
    “Of course I do,” she said, leaning across and kissing his ear.
    “Then we’re just wasting time not setting a date. And getting married makes sound practical sense for both of us. I’m nearly thirty-six and I want to get my life sorted. It feels like it’s time. I want to settle down. I want us to have a couple of kids, a nice house round the corner from the practice . . .”
    “. . . membership