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him.
    He punches in some numbers and waits. When his phone rings, he ends the call. ‘I’ve got your number and you’ve got mine,’ he says and hands her phone back to her.
    ‘Thank you.’
    ‘Take a couple of aspirins and go to bed. Keep yourself free tomorrow. The entire day.’
    ‘OK.’
    ‘I’ll be in touch tomorrow evening.’
    He watches her totter and wobble in her ridiculous shoes over to the cemented verge, gain the cracked concrete concourse, and go up an outer staircase while holding onto the metal railings. At the entrance to her home she turns back and flicks her wrist to indicate that she is safely home and that he need wait no more. He doesn’t respond.
    Simply sits there. Watching her. She shrugs and, sitting on the front step, takes off her shoes. With them in her hand she puts her key in the door.
    It is only when Lana closes her front door and hears the powerful engine take off that she realizes neither man has wanted to know why she needs the money. The flat is lit only by the lights from the streetlamps. She walks barefoot into the kitchen and fumbles around in the darkness. She finds a tab of paracetamols, punches two out and sits at the kitchen table with a glass of water in a stunned daze. What a night it has been. She set out with an absurd idea and…
    ‘I’ve done it,’ she whispers amongst the familiar shadows, and grins. She thinks of the stone-like biceps and the hard slab of his stomach that her hands and body encountered. Then she touches her mouth. She can still feel his lips, his hands. She remembers how she lost control and totally forgot herself. And the unfamiliar too damn good sensation he caused in her body, between her legs. Is it a dream? It cannot be just her life.
    Don’t be too happy yet. He could still change his mind.
    She swallows the paracetamols and avoiding all the creaky areas tiptoes upstairs. The light is off in her mother’s room, so she quietly opens the door to look in on her sleeping form. But her mother is sitting on a chair by the window. She must have seen Lana come in.
    ‘What are you doing?’ Lana asks.
    ‘I heard you come in,’ her mother says softly.
    ‘Could you not sleep?’
    ‘No. I start my chemo on Monday. Just enjoying the feeling of well-being I guess.’
    Lana crosses the room and kneels beside her mother.
    She is not wearing a scarf, and her bald head glints in the moonlight. It makes Lana sad. ‘I’ve got good news for you, Mum. Remember that clinic in America that I was telling you about.’
    Her mother frowns. She is only fifty but the worry and pain make her appear haggard. ‘The one we can’t afford.’
    ‘Well, it’s not a hundred percent yet, but I think I’ve managed to raise the money.’
    ‘How? How did you do that?’ Her mother’s voice is suspicious and frightened.
    ‘I met a guy. A rich guy who just wants to help.’
    ‘A rich man who wants to help?’ Her mother’s tone is frankly disbelieving.
    ‘Mum, please don’t be like that. It’s not anything like you are thinking.’
    ‘Oh no? What is it like then?’
    ‘He’s just a nice guy who likes me.’
    ‘I wasn’t born yesterday, girl.’ Her mother’s skeletal fingers grip her hands. ‘You haven’t done anything you’ll regret, have you?’
    ‘I promise I haven’t. I just drank too much champagne,’ she puts her fingertip to her temples, ‘and my head’s pounding. I promise, I’ll tell you everything tomorrow when I’ve had some sleep.’ The last time she remembers lying to her mother was when she was nine and she had pretended she had brushed her teeth. Guilty and terrified of being discovered she had raced up the stairs to wet her toothbrush.
    Her mother’s hands move up her arm urgently. She touches the tips of her fingers on the dark bruises on her daughter’s arm, while her worried eyes bore into Lana’s.
    ‘Where did these come from?’
    ‘That’s not him,’ Lana explains nervously.
    ‘The road to hell is paved with good