'Fuck! Fuck!' She read the email and bashed her head against the screen several times.

"What are you doing?" Justin peered into the office.

She hit the disconnect button. "Oh, nothing, bad chapter, just letting off some steam."

"Yes, I know, a small fortune, which you paid for. Although I thought you said it was a present at the time you gave it to me. Does if now mean you've changed your mind? Don't worry it's insured."

"I can't talk to you any more. I'm going out, said I'd meet Bill down the pub at six, we might go and see a film, then get a bite to eat, but I don't expect you'll be back before the early hours, will you?"

Fat chance. "No, I shouldn't think so, you know Dee."

"Okay, see you tomorrow then." He didn't bother to kiss her.

Louise waited for the front door to slam. She always seemed to be waiting for the front door to slam, she wondered if it was symptomatic of their relationship, him always leaving, slamming the door; one day she would leave and slam the bloody front door and then wouldn't he get a bloody shock. She looked at her watch, still enough time to send an email and find out why he was standing her up. She wondered whether he was sick, or suffering from cold feet, or just couldn't be bothered. She went back online, hit the New Message button and quickly typed out a short reply.

'You bastard! Either explain, pick me up at eight or never darken my inbox again.'

She hit the send button and held her breath, mentally visualising the email screaming down the phone line and landing with a loud thud in his inbox. She left the computer on and wandered into her bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, then lay back contemplating the cobwebs loosely hanging from the light fixture. If he didn't reply by seven she would turn the computer off and phone Dee, who probably wouldn't be in or if she was would be in the middle of creating dinner for some unsuspecting victim that she had managed to entice into her web. The poor bastard would be too caught up in her skimpy clothes and the smells coming from the kitchen to notice her fangs, by which time she would have sucked him dry and spat him out the front door the next morning a shrunken husk.

Louise rolled over on to her stomach and picked up the remote for the television, flicking through the channels quickly through to a reality-sucks show, a quiz programme, a tacky American drama and the news, she switched it off. She couldn't bear the thought of being stuck in with only the prospect of Saturday telly to look forward to; she could rent a video. But that would mean a twenty-minute walk there and back, and possibly a mugging into the bargain. She could drive and hope there was a parking space, or she could go round to his house and demand an explanation. Or better still, she could suggest dinner instead of the party. If he was sick she could tend to his every need, but then again perhaps not, she didn't have a very good bedside manner, being of the 'take a pill and get out of my face' variety of nurse. Or, worst case scenario, if he was trying to give her the flick at least she would know once and for all.

She put the jeans on. Washed her face and re-did her make-up carefully, brushed her hair out, and puffed a bit of perfume on her neck. Not too much but just enough to let him know she had made the effort.