8

The night before her first ultrasound exam, Gehna dropped in unexpectedly on Eram. She’d had to do it in a surprise format. Somewhere in the emails they exchanged two or three times a day, Gehna had suggested that Eram invite her over to his place. Actually, she didn’t so much suggest it as beat him over the head with it because Eram, in a way that was infuriating to a girl used to getting her way, didn’t take hints well. He often didn’t get them at all. When she told him she liked his long, delicate fingers that belonged on a surgeon or a pianist (Gehna wasn’t sure what sort of fingers he had, but guys always puffed up at the idea of having a pianist’s hands and it was an open invite to tell her all the sexy things their fingers were capable of), Eram had replied that no, actually, he had stubby fingers that would better serve a carpenter or, possibly, a gravedigger. When she confided in him that the aroma of brewed coffee turned her on, and emailed him a haiku as proof:

Dark bean, rich scent

tickle me in deep places—

a mouthful of you

he sent her a limerick in return:

There once was a girl quite canny

Who liked to stick things in her cranny

Until one day a banana so rough

Broke off in her muff

And thence poor Gehna was a trannie!

which was all fine and hilarious, but it still wasn’t an invite. Gehna knew that guys found her attractive and she was yet to meet one who didn’t want to get her alone in his bedroom. She’d never before had to work for it. It was a mystery, and Gehna was a girl who liked to get to the bottom of things.

So she had had to get Eram’s address from him under false pretences, saying she had bought something for him on Amazon and that she needed to know where to send it. Even if he had suspected what her real plan was, most people, in Gehna’s experience, couldn’t resist the lure of one of those home-delivered brown boxes. It was 6.30 p.m. when she rang the doorbell to the first-floor flat. Gehna was feeling abuzz with excitement.

I wonder why he was so strangely reluctant to have me over. Maybe he lives in utter squalor and filth? Or he’s secretly a slave trafficker and has people chained up all over the place while they await transportation to, like, Saudi Arabia? No, that one’s a bit of a stretch, but the squalor thing could definitely be a thing.

Eram answered the door wearing pink shorts and an irritated frown.

‘Hey,’ Gehna said. ‘This is a surprise visit. I’m surprise-visiting you.’

The frown vanished. ‘You’re not Amazon,’ he said.

‘Nope. I don’t like them. They use way too much packing material. It sucks,’ Gehna said. She noticed what he was wearing. ‘Ooh. Nice shorts, Hannah Montana.’