The Scantilly Tales. Danielle Shoebottom

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      It’s 8.30pm but I head straight to my neighbour’s and knock loudly. Still in work dress, I shift impatiently in my heels. ‘Come on’, I plead silently, ‘hurry up’. Excitement flares as I hear the door unlocking and yet it has nothing to do with Mark answering in a towel – that’s fairly normal.

      “Sorry, just back from the gym,” he explains, his hands indicating himself.

      His smooth pecs bulge and droplets drizzle a six-pack as he runs a hand through wet, black hair. To the point, I flash the courier note.

      “Hi Mark,” I say. “Have you a delivery for me?”

      “Yep, just here,” he replies, disappearing behind the door. Returning, he passes me a black, ribboned box and asks with raised eyebrows: “Anything nice?”

      “I hope so,” I reply, reading the note.

      “You can show me,” he says amiably then: “Time for a glass of wine? I’ll just put on some clothes.”

      “Don’t worry about it…” I reply absent-mindedly as, confused, I re-read the sender’s note. “The wine that is…” I say, “not the … er, another time maybe? And thanks.”

      “Sure,” he says with a little side-grin that hides in dark shaded stubble. “Anytime.”

      Already turning for home, my mind elsewhere, I check the note again. Three simple words yet so much joy:

       Peek-A-Boo!!

      I want to scream it. My key rattles in the lock and before I am through, the ribbons are stretched off and the black box clatters to the floor. A mischievous twin to Monday’s gift, the seductive crimson lingerie exceeds all expectations. The familiar centre-piece – a rose-gold charm etched with an enigmatic, curvy ‘S’ – glistens invitingly. I glide my fingers along the sultry, rouge fabric and take a deep breath, savouring the tension.

      My skin needs this and I capture myself in moments. I gasp, just a little, relieved, as my fingers explore the soft satin and textured mesh. Remembering the delightful cut-outs, I dash to the hallway mirror and watch my skin glowing in two shades of red. It is perfection. I am Peek-a-Boo the Scarlet Woman.

      Suddenly, I don’t want to stay in anymore. I can’t now. I put my clothes back on, the heels too, and leave the house.

      I wonder if I’ll surprise someone with my surprise.

       Friday

      I’m in a bar after work. It’s hot, humid and busy. I’ve spent the night talking and dancing and laughing yet for the moment I’m sitting on my own, glad to rest my feet.

      This morning another gift arrived. The usual time – 7.15am – and the normal reaction where I rip apart box and bow and fall in love with the lingerie slumbering sinfully inside. This time, a beautiful violet fabric decorated with ornate lace welcomed me; my hands accepting and drawing it into an embrace before sliding it on.

      Immediately, I felt like a sultry, femme fatale and as I watched myself in the mirror, it only intensified with my gaze falling on the mesmeric rose-gold ‘S’ charm that graced each piece. The teasing half-cup and the shimmering cut-outs are jaw-dropping and wonderful. The touch of the soft material is a sensual kiss. This feeling doesn’t vanish and is with me all day and night.

      As always, there was no name or clue about the identity of my secret admirer, just a note:

       Invitation x

      The joy of these gifts is that they are for me alone. Yet today, I realised the sweet ritual of a perfect gift every morning can’t last forever. Even the word ‘invitation’ suggests the beginning of a climax. It started with a surprise on Monday; maybe it ends with an invite on Friday? I don’t know but it now seems more important to know this person who knew me better than I knew myself.

      There are familiar faces everywhere and I wonder: is it you? There are people from work here including Ben. I invited Mark, my neighbour, so he has joined our group and Jess is due to … in fact, she has just turned up, leading a group down the stairs. She hasn’t seen me yet and I don’t go over, just watch her. Did she send it?

      As I’m considering that, a stocky, rugged figure with a crew-cut – chatting to Jess – is lit by a strobe light. I immediately recognise him. Jhal – a childhood friend of Jess and an adult buddy of mine. We’ve been close … Before I can finish the thought, I notice Ben gesturing and walking over to me with Mark. It could be any one or none of them. I have no idea.

      That’s when I think of another question: whose invite do I want it to be?

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