On the way to class, I kept imagining how impressed Siobhan would be when she read my review. The more I thought about it the more excited I got. I found myself walking really fast, marching in time with my heartbeat.

I wasn’t sure exactly how to give my review to Siobhan. Ideally, I’d have liked her to stumble across it on the website, but I couldn’t be sure enough that she would see it – authors apparently always check their own Bookjungle rankings, but since the book had been out for so many years, I couldn’t believe that she checked all that regularly. I didn’t want to leave the printout on her desk in case someone else picked it up. And if I handed it to her in class the others might wonder if there was something going on between us. But it had nothing to do with any of them – this was a private matter between Siobhan and me.

Entering the college, I saw the receptionist and decided she was the best person to leave the envelope with, mainly because I couldn’t give a flying one what she thought of me.

‘Has Siobhan McGowan come in yet?’ I asked.

‘I don’t think so, love.’

‘Could you pass this to her when she does?’

She took it and set it aside.

‘You won’t forget, will you? It’s very important.’

She looked at me, then at the pink ribbon wrapped around the envelope and raised a well-plucked eyebrow. ‘No, love, I won’t forget.’

‘Thank you.’

After that, I needed the loo. I must have been in there longer than I thought because when I reached the classroom, everyone, including Siobhan, was already there.

I opened the door and saw Siobhan look me up and down. I swear she seemed impressed. And kind of hungry. Like I was a Mars Bar and she was Marianne Faithfull. She must have read my review already and – well, it looked like it had had the most positive effect I could have hoped for. Could it be that praise makes her horny? Makes her want the person praising her?

Is she that similar to me?

To my delight, I saw a hint of pink poking out of her bag – the envelope I put the card and review in. So the receptionist didn’t let me down. And when I saw what Siobhan wearing…wow! The boots, below what looked like they could be stockings on her long, sexy legs, and more make up than last time - though not too much, nothing tarty or cheap. She looked sensational.

She asked me to sit down, and I could feel her eyes on me as I walked to my chair. I had this rushing sensation in my stomach and chest, that feeling you get when something very exciting is about to happen. I was trying not to stare at Siobhan too hard, trying to be cool, trying to stay calm. And then she turned all the lights out.

It was a shock at first, suddenly being in pitch darkness with a group of near-strangers. But, very quickly, I became accustomed to it. I even forgot the others were there, and it felt like it was just me and Siobhan. Brian wasn’t scratching like a mangy hamster, Kathy wasn’t sending me hate rays for being a man, Barbara wasn’t snoring. It was just me and Siobhan, Siobhan and me, and it was so dark with the blackout blinds down that I couldn’t even see my own hands, and nobody else could see how aroused I was as I listened to Siobhan’s deliciously husky voice.

She asked us to think of a character, but the only character I could think of was her, and then there were two of us in the story in my head, her and me. I couldn’t manage the bit about standing in my childhood bedroom. All I could picture was my bedroom now, rucked-up sheets beneath two entwined bodies.

I felt like she was caressing me with her words, reaching across the room to me and stroking my hair, my face, touching my eyelids and running her hand down the back of my neck, then around to the front and – oh God – into my lap. I could smell her – her skin and perfume and hair – and when the lights came on I nearly fell out of my chair in my desperate attempt to cross my legs.

Have to admit, though, the mood was spoiled a bit by the sight of the drool on Grandma’s hairy chin. But when my eyes adjusted to the brightness I couldn’t stop myself gazing at Siobhan. She caught my eye then quickly looked away, shy, sweet, coquettish.

When I had to write down what I’d visualised, I had to make something up. I couldn’t be honest, could I? This journal is the only place where I can be fully honest.

The class ended and the others started to file out. Brian stuttered something to her as he passed and she smiled at him, sympathetically. I hung back, waiting for all the others to leave. I wanted to talk to Siobhan about her book and my review. I wanted to give her the chance to say how pleased she was. But bloody Kathy wasn’t leaving. She stayed in her seat, scribbling something, and Siobhan came over and started talking to her. It didn’t seem that Kathy would be leaving too quickly. Realising there was no way I could hang around without seeming like a weirdo, I slunk out.

But I wasn’t too worried because I knew Siobhan would love what I’d written – and I was confident that she’d want to call me to talk about it. She…shit, there’s the phone now.

It wasn’t her. Someone for Simon. Of course it wouldn’t be her. She’ll want to play it cool, won’t want to let me know how excited she was to read my words straight away. I expect she’ll call tomorrow, Thursday. I wish I still had my mobile – I’d forgotten what it’s like to have to literally wait by the phone.

I doubt I’ll be able to sleep tonight. Too excited.

Thursday

Had a terrible evening. Sat in the living room watching TV and waiting for the phone to ring. Nothing on except a programme about lions: all they seem to do is sleep and shag. Looked at the cover of Siobhan’s novel: the naked woman; Siobhan’s picture; the two merging into one. I stared at the phone. It stared back, mocking me. It rang at one point, making me leap off the sofa. It was Si, asking if I wanted to join him and Nat for a drink.

‘I can’t.’

He sighed. ‘You need to get out more, Alex. You couldn’t come out the other night because of your writing class. You can’t keep turning down our invitations. We’ll get offended.’ I could hear the clink of glasses in the background, Christina on the jukebox. I put the phone down, worried about blocking the line.

I smoked six cigarettes and rummaged through Si’s bedside cabinet, trying to find his dope stash. Just a few hard crumbs. I ate them. They didn’t do anything.

At ten, I checked the phone connection. At this point, I realised how sad I was being. Maybe I should unplug the phone, I thought. Then when she tried to ring she wouldn’t be able to get hold of me; it would just ring and ring, and she’d be there getting worried, wondering where I was. I knelt down to pull the cord out of the wall. But I couldn’t do it.

I wish I’d had the chance to talk to her after the class. Maybe I was too subtle, simply writing my phone number. Perhaps I should have made some ‘call me’ sign in class. But that would have made me look like a twat. And I’m sure Siobhan’s the kind of person who understands subtlety. Her novel is subtle. So why hasn’t she taken the hint and called? Does she think I’m just a loser who doesn’t even have a mobile phone?

Or maybe she’s just shyer than she seems.

Friday

Maybe she lost my number. That could be it. She might have lost the card I gave her somehow. She might even have lost her bag. Maybe she’s been hunting her flat or house, getting frantic, wanting to call me, worrying that I’ll be upset. Of course, I’ll reassure her, I’ll tell her it’s fine, let’s go for a drink, a meal, and who knows what will follow.

Friday night, and I’m in my bedroom. It’s eleven thirty and, through the thin walls, Si and Nat are at it again, doing more for Anglo-French relations than Concorde, hypermarkets and Julian Barnes combined. I’ve put my headphones on, to drown it out, but when I close my eyes all I can see is flesh.