Page 2 of The Temp

‘I don’t doubt it. But I’m not one of them.’

‘It’s not as if anything actually happened? Our lips brushed but we didn’t snog, or anything. No harm done, eh?’

I look at him aghast. ‘Firstly, I have not got a crush on you,’ I insist, flicking a thumb out. ‘And secondly.’ I flick out my index finger and point it at him like a gun. ‘I think you’ll find that you’re the one with the infatuation.’ Especially as I’m twenty years your senior. ‘I’m a happily married woman.’

He holds his designer stubbled chin. ‘Is that so?’

‘Yes,’ I snap. If he’s come here to throw accusations at me, it’s not going to wash.

Glancing across the road, I notice Anna seated in her car, phone pressed against her ear, lips moving. She hasn’t seen me. Taking a step to the side, I shield myself behind Frank’s V-shaped body, then as I go to speak I hear the sound of raised voices. Ralf has appeared on the driveway looking stylish in a high-collared padded yellow gilet and electric blue flares. With his big afro-blonde hair, he looks as if he’s stepped out of a 70s album sleeve.

‘It’s not fair,’ Ralf booms. Frank looks round, biting his thumbnail, as Anna swings her legs around and climbs out of her Volvo.

‘Get in the car,’ Anna retaliates, pushing the sleeves of her long brown coat up a fraction. ‘Hey, Bella,’ she calls out. And now she’s seen me. With Frank. Brilliant. Folding her arms, she looks across at him, features set in uncertainty. ‘Everything okay?’ Anna wraps her coat around her and I’m sure I catch a flash of red tartan pyjamas.

‘All good, thanks, Anna.’ I wave a hand. A phone rings. ‘Haven’t seen you in a while,’ I holler. Definitely pyjamas. And bare feet in trainers. Anna presses her phone to her ear again. I don’t think she heard me. I turn back to Frank to the commotion of slamming doors and the hum of voices. ‘Look, you’ve had your say. So, if there’s nothing else.’

‘Well, actually, there is.’ There’s a pause and then. ‘I enjoy working with people who genuinely want to get into shape. It makes it all worthwhile. What happened last Tuesday was just a blip. Nothing we can’t sort out.’

‘Listen, Frank, whatever you think happened, I am not and never have been interested in an affair.’ He raises an eyebrow, which is plucked to perfection. ‘I would never cheat on my husband.’

‘Okay,’ he admits, holding his hands up. My stomach unclenches. At last, we’re getting somewhere. ‘Keeping me a secret from him is kinda cheating, though, isn’t it?’ Acid flares in my stomach. ‘Oh, keep your hair on, Bella. I’m not hanging around here waiting for him to come home so I can grass you up, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’d never betray client confidentiality, no matter what. You have my word.’ He places his hand on his toned chest. ‘Nor will I mention...’ Licking his lips he glances away, sniffs. ‘The other little incident you’re keeping from your husband.’ My muscles seize. Don’t rise to the bait, Bella. Calmly get in the car and drive to Mrs Anderson’s – you don’t want to keep a client waiting.

‘Good,’ I say tightly. ‘Thank you.’ I go to move, his hand snaps around my wrist.

‘But you didn’t need to cancel your gym membership over a silly misunderstanding and sack me. We had a deal, remember?’

And there it is. The reason he’s here. Money.

Chapter 2

I look at Frank, feeling numb. If he’s here to blackmail me in exchange for keeping quiet about what he saw, I won’t be able to fix this.

‘You okay? You look anxious.’

‘I’m not anxious,’ I say in a panicky tone.

Right, I need to calm down and sort this before it gets out of hand. Frank’s lost a client – an income – he’s got bills to pay, food to buy, times are hard. I’ve got to pacify him, appeal to his better nature.

‘I thought we were friends,’ I say. ‘I thought I could trust you.’

Frank’s features soften. ‘We were. We still can be. If only…’

‘It’s too late for if onlys.’ I rub my temple. ‘The dynamics between us have changed.’

‘Don’t pin this all on me,’ he says, annoyance slipping into his voice.

‘I’m sorry I had to let you go, but you must understand that I can’t train with someone when lines have been crossed.’

‘So, you didn’t stroke my chest,’ he says, challengingly. I shake my head at his expensive Nike trainers. ‘You didn’t flutter your eyelashes at me?’ More head shaking. ‘You didn’t want me?’

His accusing tone makes me jump, catapulting me back to last Tuesday. We’re in the studio, hot and sweaty after a tough workout. He’s showing me how to do a stretch. I can’t remember what it’s called now, something to do with three soldiers; the warrior three pose, that was it. I stretch forward on one leg – lose my balance – his hands on my hips – faces inches apart – his hot breath on my face – and then he…

‘Oh, come on, you can’t deny you like me.’ His voice breaks into my thoughts, bringing me back to now, and I shudder. ‘Getting all personal, bringing me coffee, breakfast. What was that all about?’

‘You’re twisting things,’ I snap, mouth dry. ‘You asked me to bring in a sample of Zelda’s bakes.’ My sister recently set up her own bakery business from home. I was trying to drum up business for her. Frank’s got a big following on Instagram, showcasing his exercise routines and healthy eating plans. I certainly wasn’t trying to bribe him into bed with half a dozen protein muffins.

‘You told me to hold on to you, then you let go before I was ready.’ A little girl skips along the street and we step out of the way, her dark, shiny hair swishing against her narrow shoulders. Her mother follows, phone secured under her hijab, pushing a pram full of grocery bags. ‘If I accidentally touched your chest, it was to stabilise myself.’ A car door slams. Olivia, Anna’s seventeen-year-old daughter, calls out Mum. ‘But you…’ Frank’s phone starts ringing.

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