I'm halfway home when my phone buzzes. It's from Rocco and it's just a picture -- my house keys.
As I'm looking at it, my phone shakes again and a single-word question appears -
Yours?
I send him back a crying face.
I'm still here for the next ten minutes. Come get?
I sigh and send the thumbs up. It's a cold night and my long coat is protecting me from the elements but not from the clingy layer of sweat underneath. I was in a rush to peel off my yoga pants and top and have a good long shower, but missing those keys for a full week, until the next class, would be a real pain. I send a thumbs-up and turn around.
I pass several of my session mates on the way back. They're all women the wrong side of middle age, matching exactly the demographic of the village. It's a lovely place but the mistake my husband and I made was moving here about three decades too soon. We thought it would be romantic, but instead, it's just a dull dull place for a woman in serious danger of becoming a housewife if I can't find something more gainful to do soon. The older women look at me in askance and I just say "Forgot something." I shrug and they continue with their gossip as they pass me.
They're laughing about Rocco, of course, because he's the most interesting thing in their lives. A thirty-something yoga-instructor with abs, a ponytail and an Italian accent. Registrations for the class had nearly tripled since he took over from Karen. There was even a waiting list now as the number of post-menopausal women wanting to come and salivate over him exceeded the maximum occupancy of the church hall. The women of Sheepy Holborn hadn't known what had hit them.
I can't fool myself that I'm immune. That second honeymoon period for Dave and I just after we'd moved to the village is now well and truly over. We still have regular sex but we have it all about conception and it's lost something special in the process. Stuck at home all day, I have the choice of sitting on the sofa watching daytime TV or sitting on the sofa pleasuring myself with fantasies of infidelity with sexy, hot men. Rocco isn't the only guy I think about, but he is a regular.
The four-space car park is empty when I get back -- with just Rocco's motorbike propped up against the wall. The door to the hall is still ajar and anemic light from a single bulb at the back spills out. I push through it.
Rocco is in the middle of taking down an old advert from the notice board and replacing it with an updated one.
"Hey," he says. "Your keys are at the back on the window sill."
As I walk across the wooden floor, he moves over to the door and shuts it, pulling the bolt across and attaching a heavy padlock to it. I turn to look at him.
"I'm about to leave," he explains. "We'll need to go out the back. There have been a spate of youths breaking into church halls and vandalizing them recently and the vicar has been on my back about making sure this place is secure."
He picks up his jacket from a chair and walks over to join me.
"Actually," he says. "I'm glad you're here. I wanted to talk to you about something."
"Oh, right," I reply. I'm expecting him to ask something about the routine. Is it effective or is too hard or too boring or something? Instead, he comes right up to me. Too close for comfort.
"I've noticed, you know," he says.
"Sorry, I don't understand."
"No need to be embarrassed," he continues. "It's perfectly natural. I've seen you watching me."
I give a short laugh. Of course I'm watching him. He's the instructor. Monkey see, monkey do.
"I know you want me," he continues. "It's okay."
I've taken a step backwards without thinking about it and now I'm in the corner. He puts an arm out, just propping himself up on the wall.
Blocking my escape.
"I'm a married woman," I say. It doesn't quite come out as definitively, as I want it to. There's part of me that's interested.
"And you still will be afterwards," he says with a shrug.
He has a point. I sincerely doubt he's the relationship kind. He wouldn't cause any trouble if...I let something happen. I'm kind of flattered and then I think about all the other women in the class and I'm suddenly less so. I look at him for just a second too long.
"See, you want it," he says. Suddenly he's leaning in and kissing me. I lean back slightly, but not as much as I should. I'm caught in two minds but there's nowhere for me to go anyway. He smells good. He tastes good too. He would be great. Even the feeling of his stubble against my cheek excites me.
I can't though. I put both hands up on his chest and gently try to push him off. It has no effect but to make me even more aware of his rock-hard chest. Dave's doesn't feel like this. I push a little harder, but still only token resistance, and he only redoubles his kiss, pushing his tongue further into my mouth. I tell myself I'm not giving in, only waiting for my moment.
We separate and he sees my eyes are wet. I'm not quite crying yet. I want to do this, but I don't want to have done this. He brushes away a tear that's not quite there.
"I'm sorry," I say, sounding truly regretful. "The answer is no."
He flashes me a smile. "I didn't ask you a question."
The delivery is weird. It's like a deadpan joke, but there's no mistaking the edge. A moment ago, I'd been scared of what I might do. Now I am scared of what he's going to do. I turn, ducking under his arm, and run into the backroom. I'm surprised that he lets me go so easily.
I've never actually been in here before. It's mostly junk - stuff from the toddler group, stuff from the amateur dramatics group, some garden tools, and a big stacks of donated Mills and Boon and Catherine Cookson books. I look around frantically for the exit. Wherever it is, I'm not seeing it. I run to the back wall anyway as if a door is going to magically appear.
Rocco saunters in after me, standing in the frame of the door. "Yeah," he says, casually inspecting his nails. "There is no backdoor."
There's a bundle under his arm. It's one of the gym mats we've just been working out on.
I'm trapped now for real. I've got my handbag and in it is a can of Mace that Dave insisted I carry. The thing is, even if I spray him directly in the face, I'd still need to get the key out of his pocket. I'm not sure I can do that, even with him semi-incapacitated.
I've turned now. We're both staying put at either side of the room and weighing each other up.
Finally, he speaks. "Normally this'd be the point at which I say I'll wear a condom if you play nicely, but...," He whistles through his teeth. "I know you're trying to get pregnant, so consider what happens next a favour."
Arsehole. I curse under my breath. Our fertility issues have been a constant topic for the busybodies of the village ever since Dave made some way too premature baby-related purchases at the local car boot sale.
He moves into the room only enough to close the door and then rolls the gym mat out to partially cover the empty space on the floor.
I pull myself up to my full height, which is about a foot shorter than I'd like it to be, and make a play that I know is not going to work. I walk forward, try to remain calm and say, "Let me out and I won't call the police." I reach into my handbag for my phone.
He's on me like a shot. I feel rather than see him slap the phone out of my right hand. As my head snaps to look that way, I suddenly feel another hand on my left and immediately the world revolves around me. My body is slammed down hard onto the mat and my yoga pants are halfway down to my knees before I've gotten my breath back. I start to kick but it's too late. He's gotten hold of the crotch and is able to pull them straight off even as I flail. I'm left in my knickers and I clamp my thighs together.
I realize that my handbag had gotten lost somewhere during his judo throw. I couldn't even guess its trajectory and don't want to bring my head up to look for it.
