Matthew wriggled down further into the sofa, pulling Gemma deeper into the crook of his arm. He frowned at her pink socks, patterned with tiny unicorns. They had been a Christmas present from Louise.
‘Shame you didn’t bring the new boots.’
She punched him playfully on the arm. ‘They’re for outdoor wear only.’
‘Talking of which, you didn’t tell me where you learned to ride a horse.’
Gemma laid down her book and took his hand, weaving her fingers into his. ‘Remember I told you about my Aunt Laura, and how I stayed with her at weekends during term time when my family lived abroad? Her town had the library in the church.’
‘I remember.’
‘One of the first books I borrowed was Riders by Jilly Cooper.’ Gemma smiled at the memory. ‘Not exactly highbrow literature, but I was fourteen and my mum would NEVER have let me read it. It’s mostly sex and horses.’
‘Two of my favourite things. I’ll order a copy.’
‘You should. Anyway, the plot revolves around these two show jumpers, and I thought the whole thing seemed incredibly sexy and glamorous. All the girls in the book had long swingy hair and looked great in jodhpurs, so when I next went home to Cyprus I asked if I could have riding lessons. There was a military saddle club that I could walk to from our house, so my parents packed me off on pony camp. It was my school holiday obsession for a few years. I started way too late to be any good at it; most of the kids there had been riding since they were little. But I loved horses and liked hanging out at the stables, although I never quite managed long swingy hair or looking great in jodhpurs.’ Gemma laughed awkwardly. ‘I did lose my virginity in one of the stables after a competition when I was sixteen. Came back to the party with glowing cheeks and straw in my hair, just like in the book.’
‘OK, this story is just getting good.’
‘Ha ha. What about you? What classic literature inspired you to ride around the country on horseback?’
‘It wasn’t a book, it was a job. There’s a stables about half a mile out of the village, we walked past it the other day. It’s a livery yard mostly; people pay to keep their horses there. I got a job there when I was fifteen or so; mucking out horses before school, doing odd jobs at weekends. I used to ride some of the horses out sometimes, nothing more than hacking in the lanes or out in the fields, but that’s how I learned to ride a horse.’
Gemma thought about how different their lives and experiences were at that moment in time. Matthew here in Crowthorpe, a shy, surly teenager fixing stable doors for cash and the chance to canter over the fields for an hour here and there. Gemma in Cyprus, finding calm and solace in horses, and revelling in the rigid structure and precision of show jumping in her smart black jacket and hard hat. Matthew hoarding his hard-earned wages,
Gemma pinning rosettes for best-turned-out pony on the cork board above her bed.
‘Do you still ride?’ The thought had morphed into Matthew as Mr Darcy, thundering across the grounds of Pemberley. She filed the mental image as something to spend some quality time with later.
‘No, not for years. You?’
‘No. Occasionally on holiday, but it’s a pretty expensive hobby when your parents aren’t paying.’
They settled down with their books again and read without speaking for half an hour or so, then Matthew’s hand drifted down to stroke Gemma’s hair. It felt delicious, so she let her book flop on to her chest and closed her eyes. Matthew said nothing, but continued with the rhythmic caress for a few minutes. Gemma wondered if he was looking at her, or still reading his book.
‘Gem . . . do we need to talk?’ His voice was barely a whisper, every word tightly drawn with tension.
Gemma silently processed the question, keeping her eyes closed to hide the flutter of panic. Of course they did, but she desperately didn’t want to spoil this moment.
‘Yes. Soon. But not now. Right now I just want to be here, with you.’ She opened her eyes and tilted her head to look at him, her eyes wide. ‘Is that OK?’
Matthew half-smiled and breathed out slowly. ‘Sure.’
She sat up and swivelled round to face him, taking in his recumbent body, Mabel asleep on his feet, the wide, soft sofa. ‘Come on, Mabel.’
Matthew looked panicked, but Gemma smiled. ‘It’s OK, we’re not leaving. I’m just putting Mabel in the bedroom. Don’t move an inch.’
Gemma grabbed a disgruntled Mabel by her collar and hustled her into Matthew’s bedroom, where she immediately jumped on the bed and settled down with a huge sigh. Gemma closed the bedroom door gently and returned to the sofa; Matthew had sat up a little but was still where she’d left him, looking a little wary and confused.
Gemma sat astride him, her knees spread to their full extent to take in the expanse of his hips. She began to unbutton his shirt, leaning down to whisper gently in his ear, ‘Don’t think. Just be here.’
Matthew lifted his arms above his head, letting them flop on the back of the sofa as Gemma silently pushed his shirt open, her delicate fingers whispering across his chest and down his stomach. She watched his face carefully, allowing her hands to linger whenever his eyes closed and his breath caught. A feather-light touch on his collarbone, a sweeping stroke down the curve of his side, a touch more pressure with a fingertip from the bottom of his ribcage to the button of his jeans. Gemma wondered how long he could take it, but he didn’t move, so she twisted open the button and slowly pulled down the zip, taking hold of him with both hands. For a moment she marvelled at the intoxicating power she held over the man pinned beneath her, until Matthew murmured her name and gathered her up in his arms, flipping her over on to the sofa and burying his head in her body. She heard a muffled ‘Oh God, Gem, I . . .’ but the rest of his words were lost in a tangle of clothes and limbs and a breathless need to shut everything out but each other.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Friday, 24 April
To Do
Stop being a twat and make a plan
Call Joe
Book virtual viewings of shitty flats
Ladies’ Lock-In 8.30 p.m.
Sit down, Gemma. Make a list. Everything feels better with a list. Maybe a cup of tea first? Why are you looking at me like that? Fuck, even the dog is judging me today.
Everything felt complicated and onerous today, like climbing a hill with a backpack full of rocks or wading through custard in lead boots. Gemma’s brain felt like it was full of bees; it was easy to blame it on wine and sofa sex, but that was just ignoring the facts: a plan for a return to real life needed to be made, and she simply didn’t want to do it.
She made a mug of tea and grabbed a packet of ginger biscuits, returning to the dining table feeling resolute. Getting started was always the hardest bit.
Her mind wandered back to the previous evening at Matthew’ s – it had been pretty special; the kind of night she’d read about in books but never experienced first-hand. Romance had never factored highly in her previous relationships – none of her previous boyfriends had ever gone to the trouble of music, wine, food and snuggling on the sofa, or shown any indication that they might welcome such a gesture from her. Matthew had asked her to stay over but she’d said no – ostensibly on the basis of them both having an early start, but in reality because she couldn’t face spending the night in his rock-hard prison bed. Apart from that first night when she’d crept in to use him as a hot water bottle, she’d managed to engineer all sex to take place either in her bed or on his sofa. Her spine would thank her one day.
Gemma sipped her tea and ate a biscuit. Making a list would help her feel more in control of the situation, but maybe it would help to get some context first. There was her situation in this village, but also the wider situation in London and the UK, and the rest of the world. She clicked on to the Guardian website and chose their at-a-glance news round-up from the previous night, and immediately wished she hadn’t.
Looking at the figures made Gemma’s heart feel heavy – this cris
is was so very far from over; the impact was going to be felt for years throughout the world. Unsurprisingly, a huge proportion of the UK’s cases were in London, with Southwark particularly badly hit. She still felt bad for running away, but equally not hugely enthused about going back.
But what was the alternative? Staying in Wiltshire, filing the odd article when she could find work, joining the Women’s Institute and learning to make jam? Don’t make work your excuse, Gemma – it’s not like you’ve tried particularly hard over the past couple of weeks. This was true – she’d been so busy with village stuff that she hadn’t actively pitched for any work, although she’d done whatever had come her way. And the stuff she was writing was absolutely not dependent on her living in London, at least not for now.
She grabbed two sheets of paper and wrote a heading in capital letters at the top of each:
REASONS TO STAY
REASONS TO GO
She stared at the headings for a bit while she ate another biscuit then started to make a list.
REASONS TO STAY
It’s safer here than in London
The cottage is nice and (currently) rent-free
Mabel likes the countryside
I like the countryside – green space/air quality
Nice community/village stuff
Only an hour on train from London
I really like spending time with Matthew
Gemma’s pen hovered over the final line, unable to find the right words. I like spending time with him. Being with him makes me happy. I like him a LOT. Oh fuck, I love him. The realisation hit her like a punch in the gut; she put her pen down and covered her face, pushing the heels of her hands into her eye sockets. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Falling in love with Matthew had never been part of the plan, and she hadn’t seen it coming. But now she’d said the words out loud in her head, it was so obvious. She thought about how different she felt with Matthew compared to Fraser, how much more alive she had felt in the past few weeks. Matthew had flicked every one of her switches and lit her up like a Christmas tree, and even now she was thinking about when she could see him again. Oh Gemma, you stupid fucking idiot.
She lifted her head and looked at the other sheet of paper. Do it, Gemma. It needs to be done.
REASONS TO GO
London is home
Eventually this lockdown will end, and you’ll wonder why you’re still here
You came here to get over Fraser, not to get with someone else
You’ll be nearer your friends
You live in a house with no phone signal and no WiFi
You won’t be Miss Havisham when he dumps you
Gemma took a deep breath. The facts couldn’t be ignored; she’d been here far too long and had been avoiding making a decision because it was easier not to. Just as Louise had said, she’d been using Matthew as a way of avoiding real life; he deserved better, and she needed to face up to it like an adult. She resolved to talk to him tomorrow – she was using his WiFi for the Ladies’ Lock-In tonight, but wouldn’t stay afterwards; it would be too late for a heavy chat and she’d probably just end up taking him to bed to avoid talking, like she had last night. Her mind strayed to thoughts of where his hands and lips had strayed and she flushed with a sudden heat. She brushed the thoughts aside – Focus, Gemma.
She galvanised herself into tackling her to-do list – first do a search for a flat share and book some virtual viewings as soon as possible – in-person viewings might not be available for weeks, so she’d have to make do with a virtual live tour and cross her fingers that it wouldn’t smell like a gym changing room in real life. Her ideal place was south of the river, cheap, dog-friendly and available immediately, although not sharing with serial killers was also preferred. Living in her own little place would be amazing but financially unrealistic, so it was going to have to be a flat share. It felt to Gemma like a lot could go wrong with this plan, but it didn’t seem like she had much choice.
After that she needed to call Joe, in case she and Mabel needed to stay at his for a night before she could pick up the keys, or to beg him to be her emergency back-up if she turned up at the new place and found it was inhabited by terrible people. It was entirely against the lockdown rules so he might say no, but she’d only ask Caro as a last resort. If she called her today she’d give her the third degree about Matthew and she couldn’t face that right now.
Gemma made another cup of tea and let Mabel out into the garden. She could hear Matthew clattering around in the barn and it took every ounce of willpower not to go down there and take refuge in the comfort and sturdiness of his arms. The air outside was warm, but she felt chilled to the bone; her knuckles were white as she clutched the hot mug like a lifeline. Maybe she should have a bath, or maybe she should get back to her desk and stop procrastinating.
Back at the dining table, Gemma looked at the list and decided to call Joe first, wanting to hear his voice and get a second opinion on her plan, which felt shaky at best. She climbed up to the bathroom where the WiFi signal was best and used WhatsApp to call him, feeling her heart lift when he answered straight away.
‘Yo.’
Gemma rolled her eyes. ‘Joe, you’re a thirty-two-year-old white man. Stop it.’
‘Sorry. What do you need? I’m mega busy.’
‘Really?’
‘Fuck, no. I’m watching Drag Race on Netflix.’
Joe’s day job was sales manager for an events company which specialised in fancy weddings, of which precisely zero were happening right now. So he’d been furloughed, and was spending the time cycling around London, teaching himself to cook courtesy of the set of Nigella recipe books Gemma had given him for his thirtieth birthday, and watching a great deal of TV. Gemma felt a rush of fondness for him, thinking of the many nights they’d watched Ru Paul’s Drag Race together in his flat or Aunt Laura’s house, a bottle of wine on the go and Mabel snuggled up on the sofa between them.
She took a deep breath. ‘I’m looking at flats, hoping to be back in London sometime next week.’
‘Really? Is everything OK?’
‘It’s fine, just time for me to head home.’ One thing Gemma loved about Joe was he didn’t ask questions; unlike Caro, who had read the MI5 interrogation handbook. ‘I’m hoping to book some virtual viewings and get a place sorted in the next couple of days, but I might need to stay at yours for a night or two depending on timings. I know it’s a big ask.’
‘It’s fine, don’t worry about it. But listen, are you sure you want to move into a place without seeing it first? What if it’s a shithole?’ Joe sounded concerned, and it made Gemma’s resolve waver.
‘I don’t have another option, you can’t do in-person viewings yet. I’ll try to get a short lease so I can bail out if it’s awful. But please don’t tell Caro I’m coming back; she’s got enough on her plate without worrying about me. I’ll call her tomorrow.’
Joe was silent for a moment; all Gemma could hear was traffic in the background, so he must have the windows open. ‘Ohmygod, Gem. I’ve had an idea. I was chatting to my neighbour earlier, he shares the other half of my balcony. His name’s Leon, he’s a Swedish graphic designer and hot as fuck. Straight, but they all say that.’
Gemma sighed, itching to get back to her laptop and start flat-hunting. ‘Joe, are you going anywhere with this?’
‘Yes, sorry. He’s going back to Sweden next week, I think he said Thursday. His dad has been sick, not corona or anything, but he’s coming home from hospital. Leon’s going home to help his mum look after him.’
Gemma straightened up, dimly seeing where Joe might be heading. ‘Go on.’
‘He said he was going for at least a month, maybe longer. He’s working from home anyway so he can easily do that from Sweden. Do you want me to ask him if you can rent his flat?’
‘Oh my God, yes.’ Gemma’s heart was racing, this would solve so many of her problems right now. A temporary place to live until she could do proper viewings, with the added bonus of being
next door to Joe. ‘Does he mind dogs?’
‘No idea, I’ll go and give him a yell on the balcony now. I’m sure he’ll take the extra cash while he’s away, and if he hates dogs I’ll live in his flat and you can live in mine. Give me ten minutes and I’ll call you back.’
‘Joe, I love you so much.’
‘Of course you do. You’re only human.’ Gemma could hear the smile and the wink in his voice as he hung up. She sat on the edge of the bath and breathed out slowly; there was nothing more she could do now until she heard back from him. The room suddenly felt strange and foreign, like she’d briefly experienced time travel; for the past ten minutes she’d been lost in the familiar neighbourhoods of south London, and now she was back in Caro’s old cottage in Crowthorpe. It felt like two very different worlds, but she’d made her choice about where she belonged. One way or another, in less than a week she would leave Crowthorpe, and all she had to do now was tell the only person who would care.
‘Maggie, you’re on mute. Turn your microphone on.’
‘Steph, we can’t see you. You need to turn your camera on.’
Gemma relaxed into Matthew’s sofa with a huge glass of wine, smiling at the usual chaos of getting a bunch of people on to Zoom. The system wasn’t designed for twenty-five women all talking at once; it was supposed to be for sensible business meetings. But Jess the landlady was in charge of this session and was doing an admirable job of herding cats, so Gemma waited quietly for everyone to settle.
Matthew had been fine when she saw him earlier – preoccupied with his current commission, which looked like a simple coffee table on paper, but in reality was a bespoke design with some complex joints and hidden drawers that he needed to get his head around. He’d given Gemma a kiss and Mabel a belly rub, then headed off to the workshop. They’d arranged to take Mabel for a walk together tomorrow afternoon; the weather was forecast to be warm and sunny, so it would give them a chance to get away from the village. Matthew had his first Lads’ Lock-In tomorrow evening so they had no shared plans beyond the walk, but Gemma suspected that he wouldn’t want to see her anyway once she’d told him about her impending departure. Joe had called back earlier to confirm that Leon was fine for her to rent his flat for a month, and he’d leave the keys with Joe before he left for Stockholm on Thursday morning. She reminded herself that it was better this way and pushed aside the feelings of desolation.
Two Metres From You Page 23