Read The Telling Error for Free Online

that he’s English, in his mid-forties, married with no children and works from home. That’s what he’s told me, anyway. I suppose any or all of it might not be true. I didn’t and don’t really care. All I cared about was the way he made me feel. On two occasions, his insistent explicit words alone were enough to push me over the edge – just the words and my imagination, and not even a brush of a fingertip. No other man has ever had that effect on me.
    Not even King Edward
.
    Whom I swore I wouldn’t allow into my mind again. That’s why Gavin: to block out King Edward. Amazing, really, how well it worked.
    Until now.
    I am gasping for breath, though I’ve done nothing physically strenuous. I grip the desk to steady myself.
    Think about Gavin. Not
…
anybody else. Gavin.
    The blank tonelessness of his words was an important part of the attraction. So different. And yet three of the four new messages from him that I’ve just read – all but the first one – don’t sound like him at all. Did my abandonment panic him so much that his online persona slipped?
    I promise you no one but me will ever see it
…
    I won’t make a habit of it, I promise
…
    I’ll go back to talking mainly about your nipples, I promise
…
    Feelings, eh?
    A shudder rocks my body. I don’t want Gavin’s feelings or his promises. King Edward gave me feelings and promises, and they counted for nothing in the end. And I don’t want amusing banter and wordplay from Gavin either. Adam jokes around. So did King Edward. I love witty men, normally. I mean, I used to.
    You still do love Adam. Never forget that
.
    Gavin has never been funny, warm or affectionate before. It’s the reason I felt safe in my dealings with him. I wanted and needed him to be avid but not caring, never emotional. I can’t stand to think of him as a vulnerable man whose heart I might have broken.
    I don’t want to think about him any more today – it’s already too much – but I can’t log out, not without reading everything.
    I open message number five:
    Nicki, seriously, are you OK? I’m starting to indulge in paranoid worst-case-scenario delusions here. Has your husband found out about us? Have you found out something about me? Are you in hospital, with no access to email? G.
    Nicki? Where are you? G.
    Do you want to hear my latest theory? You always sign your emails ‘N x’. I always sign mine ‘G’. You’ve decided I’m a cold, emotionless husk because I won’t sign off with a kiss. That’s why you’ve gone missing from my cyber-life. Right? For your information, I’ve never signed emails with an ‘x’ and I don’t think I ever would, however I felt about someone. It’s fine when women do it, but from a man it would look somewhat effeminate, I think. Also, I can’t believe this would bother you suddenly when it never has before? Or maybe it has, and you’ve been waiting and hoping …? Look, I’m a big boy. I can handle honesty. Will you tell me what I’ve done wrong? G x (just this once, for strategic effect, because … well, because I’m rather fond of you, Nicki. Perhaps I should have said so before.)
    No. No.
This is unbearable
.
    Kind, sincere, affectionate words. Of all the things to become phobic about.
Fuck you, King Edward. You’re to blame for this.
    I’m glad there’s no mirror in this room. I would hate to see what I look like.
    A disaster area. There’s not a person on the planet who wouldn’t be better off without you in their lives, not even your children
.
    Instead of shutting the computer down and running away, I force myself to read all seven of Gavin’s emails again – not once but several times. By the time I’ve finished, the words seem less threatening and my hands have stopped shaking.
    How can he care about me this much? He barely knows me. Correction: he doesn’t know me at all.
    And yet, not knowing him either, I care about him too. The way he rescued me from the brink …
    Far from objecting to it, I