On the way back he picked up some take away menus, and a couple of bouquets of flowers from a nearby service station before scrambling over the yard wall and letting himself back into the girls' house. He felt exhausted by now, bone-achingly weary; so he threw himself onto the couch, shoved the holdall back underneath then scrolled through the TV channels trying to find anything to watch.
When the girls came home from work, they found him asleep, mouth open, the remote dropped to the floor. "Sleeping like a baby," Ewelina commented.
Narcisa shook him awake and handed him a coffee.
"Thank you," said Caramarin. "Thanks for letting me stay. Hope I didn't frighten you too much." He caught sight of himself in the mirror. Not good. His swellings and bruises were getting worse.
"That's all right," said Narcisa. She kissed just about the only unmarked place on his face.
"Listen, to say thanks for lookin’ after me, let me get the food in tonight? Let me pay for whatever you girls want." He handed over the takeaway menus. "These came through the door earlier. Choose the best on the menu. And wine, whatever..."
The women looked through the menus and squabbled over their choices. A tall, blond young man in a denim jacket walked in. He turned out to be Marta's boyfriend and spoke a little Russian.
"You too," said Caramarin to the man. "But you'll have to order for me. My English isn't up to that."
"You're going to have to learn some English if you're going to get anywhere looking for your friend here," Narcisa told him. Caramarin said nothing. The girls finally settled on what they wanted. He reckoned he'd given them too much choice the way they went through every menu at least three times. As he waited for the girls to decide he sent Artur, out to the neighbourhood liquor store for booze.
"And don't get that British lager," Caramarin told him slowly in basic Russian.
When the food arrived it filled the kitchen table, foil cartons overflowing onto the work surfaces. There was enough to feed a whole village back home. The girls had chosen Indian and the hot, spicy food went well with cold Polish lager.
Caramarin relaxed. He hadn't felt so happy for ages. Not since he'd arrived in Britain anyway. Another couple of Ewelina's stolen codeines washed down with lager and his aches dulled away. He laughed. The girls and Artur chatted away. He couldn't follow their conversations but didn't need to. They were happy; he was happy.
Finished, the friends moved into the lounge. Caramarin poured the vodkas while Narcisa set up the music. She sat next to him on the couch and snuggled up against him. Artur and Marta moved to the centre of the lounge and started dancing. Hips swaying, bodies gyrating together, not quite in time to the R'n'B.
Caramarin dimmed the light until only a soft glow lit the room. He took a long pull of the Finlandia, then pulled Narcisa to her feet. With a little squeal of protest they danced together. He felt her body heat as he held her close.
Artur sat and rolled a joint. Sparked it up and passed it around. Marijuana wasn't Caramarin's first choice, he was more into cocaine, but tonight the mellow weed hit the spot like nothing else. Held the smoke in before blowing it up to the ceiling, taking any last problems up with it. Felt chilled, felt good.
They carried on dancing and drinking long into the night. As she got stoned, Narcisa's dancing slowed; became sexier, more primal. Caramarin barely noticed when Marta took Artur by the hand and led him upstairs.
"Thank you for a wonderful evening," Narcisa said through the heavy marijuana haze.
"No, thanks for letting me stay. I enjoyed the evening," he said. "The best I've had since I don't know when."
Caramarin shrugged on his camouflage jacket and opened the front door. The cold rain was slashing down, bouncing off the car roofs and sidewalks forming a wet haze. Water poured from a nearby blocked gutter.
"You can't go out in that," Narcisa told him. "Least I... we can do is let you stay over tonight."
"Are you sure?" he said, gratefully. Caramarin slipped off his jacket and walked back to the couch.
"Where's that hospital blanket gone?" he asked.
Narcisa took his arm and pressed herself against him. She looked up at him with her dark, smouldering eyes.
"You don't have to sleep on the couch. Unless you really want to..."
Caramarin shook his head and allowed her to lead him upstairs. A girl's bedroom always reveals her soul. While Narcisa used the bathroom to freshen up, he sat on an easy chair and looked around. Covering the wood-chip walls were posters of Sixties icons. One of Marilyn Monroe over the boarded up fireplace. Another of The Beatles next to one of Che Guevara. Over her bed, one of JFK.
"Nice choice, comrade," he said nodding to Che's image.
"Yes, I love that one," she said. "Didn't he play for The Doors? Or was it The Stones?"
He sighed. "Think it might have been Jefferson Airplane."
She picked up a shabby old rag doll from the bed and kissed it, before carrying the doll over to the dressing table and setting it down. She looked at the doll, and then turned it around to face the wall.
"Don't want you seeing anything," Narcisa said to her doll, kissing it again. She sat on the cream bed cover; not a double but a little larger than a single. Caramarin handed over the last of the Finlandia and sat next to her.
Narcisa drained the bottle, threw her arms around Caramarin's neck and kissed him full on the lips. Her fingers traced his bruised, swollen eye soothing it. His tongue probed her mouth. Her breath tasted of toothpaste, alcohol and just a trace of Indian curry. He drew her closer towards him, feeling the warmth of her body.
Her hands worked their way down his back, feeling the ridge of his spine; they slipped beneath his belt and tugged his shirt free. He helped shrug it off. Her hands moved around his sides, to his chest, feeling his ribs, feeling his abs. She drew in her breath as she saw again the bruises and damage to his torso.
"That must have been a hell of a fight," she whispered.
"It was."
She lowered her head and kissed his body. Her tongue licked his nipples, her teeth nibbled gently on them, tingling him. He gasped with pleasure at the sensations. Narcisa pressed her hands to his chest and pushed him onto the bed.
Her gentle hands explored his abdomen and unbuckled his belt. Caramarin arched his hips so she could unzip his jeans and tug them down his legs. His boxers slid down with them.
Caramarin growled and sat up. "Not yet," he said.
He caught hold of her sweater by the hem and lifted it over her head. While she was trapped under its folds, struggling to remove it, he caressed her breasts through her black bra. Narcisa squirmed and dropped the sweater to the floor onto his shirt and jeans. She shook her head, her long dark hair coming free from its pony tail.
Narcisa lifted her arms to her head; he caught the floral aroma of her perfume. She unhooked her bra and dropped it. Caramarin caught it and threw it onto the dressing table snagging her rag doll. Caramarin cupped her loose breasts, his fingers working, teasing, arousing her dark nipples, bringing them up to stiff points. Narcisa moaned with pleasure.
A glint of gold shone from her pierced belly button. His hands still playing with her nipples, pleasuring her with exquisite feelings. He could carry on for a while yet but Narcisa wanted more. She pushed his hands away, her breasts free now, before lying down on top of him, their bodies pressed together.
She guided his hands to her leggings, her hips moving against his groin, keeping him interested. In turn, he slid her leggings down her thighs until he could reach no further. With a little murmur of apology, she wriggled over and slid her leggings off over her feet.
"Nearly," she whispered. She was now only wearing black briefs. She looked into his eyes and thrust her hips towards him. He needed no second invite. With one smooth pull, he slid the panties down her thighs. His strong arms drew her closer towards him, and then slipped them off. Caramarin balled the damp briefs and tossed them over to her dresser. Let's see what her rag doll makes of that.
Narcisa pushed him down onto the bed and lifted his hands back onto her free breasts. "Please," she said. His fingers worked her nipples again, until they were hard as little rocks. Narcisa knelt and shuffled up the bed. She reached over, took a rubber from the bedside table, unwrapped it, and then unrolled it over him. Only a supreme effort of will stopped her gentle touch from making him explode.
Narcisa rested her hands on his chest, stroking his nipples as he felt hers. Her hips moved up and down, the friction building even through the rubber, taking him to ecstasy. Caramarin felt the familiar pressure build up until, he could last no longer. He exploded inside her, the release draining him. He managed several more thrusts, enough to make her groan and squeal with her own pleasure.
She dropped onto his chest and kept him close for as long as possible. Caramarin held her tight, holding her in his strong arms. He yawned, closed his eyes, exhausted now. Before sleep claimed him, he checked if he could still stay over, sleep on the couch again.
"No, of course not. You're sleeping here with me tonight," whispered Narcisa. In the small bed, it was a tight fit. They lay together like spoons, his arm lying on her side, their bodies warming and pleasing the other's. All the same, if he wasn't so tired he would have difficulty sleeping like that.
Within minutes, their sleeping breaths became one.