It was interesting to see how they evolved. The most complete were all London cityscapes, dating from when he’d first moved up. Then, gradually, he’d drifted into local scenes: desolate moorland bruised with heather; sheep-stubbled hills; black, ruinous mills nestled in deep West Riding valleys. A harsh, glorious tapestry of gritstone and graft, scarred with industry and half-healed by nature. It was hard not to get a bit lyrical about it.
I felt a surge of affection and loss as I examined the paintings. I didn’t know if the Yorkshire theme meant Cole had come to see the area as his home or if it was an effort to learn to love it for my sake, but it was obviously his best work. No wonder Ryder’s patrons were so desperate for him.
There was none of his art in the house itself, other than the view from Pagans’ Rock he’d given me for our anniversary and the painting of Westminster Bridge that had been his very first present. In fact, there was nothing much of his in any room but the attic. All the furniture, all the ornaments, had been picked out by me. ‘Whatever makes you happy, darling,’ had been his standard response when I’d asked for an opinion on anything. The photos on the walls were of my friends, my family, except for one small picture of the two of us taken at some art function years ago. Everything in the home we’d shared seemed to be evidence of two very different people, leading very different lives under the same roof.
It was nearly nine when he showed up. I opened the door to find him looking tired but the same as ever: handsome, faintly baffled, like half his thoughts were somewhere else.
‘Hello,’ he said.
‘Hi.’
He reached up to rub his hair, avoiding eye contact. The awkwardness was painful.
‘Um, do you want to join me for a glass of something?’ I said, to fill the silence as much as anything. ‘It’s been chambrered.’
I was hoping that might raise a smile, but the ice remained firmly unbroken.
‘No, I can’t stop. I’ve a lot to do before the move.’
‘When are you going?’
‘Next month officially, but I’m going to start moving my things down tomorrow.’ His eyes kindled, and he finally met my gaze. ‘Ryder sent some photos of the studio annexe they’re preparing for me. You should see it, Becky. It’s huge.’
I smiled. ‘I’m glad you’re excited. Here, come in. I’ve packed most of your things, and I can send the rest of the paintings down by courier.’
He followed me into the living room.
I gestured to a couple of holdalls containing his clothes, and some canvases leaning against the wall.
‘I was careful,’ I said, seeing his worried look. ‘I know how precious they are. Especially now you’re going to be a star.’
‘Thank you.’
There was another awkward silence.
‘So, um, do you want to take that one too?’ I nodded to the Pagans’ Rock picture hanging over the fireplace.
‘Of course not. I painted that for you.’
I smiled. ‘Hoped you’d say that. I do love it.’
He reached out to take my hands. ‘Becky…’
‘It’s ok,’ I whispered, blinking back a tear. It was amazing I still had any left in me. ‘Cole, it’s ok.’
He glanced down at my fingers in his, denuded of engagement ring, and swallowed a sob of his own.
‘Be happy, darling,’ he whispered. I let him draw me into his arms for a final hug. ‘Chase your dreams. Love and be loved. I hope life gives you everything you want.’
‘I’ll never forget you.’ I breathed deeply against his chest, inhaling his scent for the last time.
‘And I’ll always be grateful to you. I don’t believe I’d be the artist I am if I hadn’t had you in my life. Or the man.’
He let me go and slung one of the holdalls over his shoulder.
‘You should tell him, you know,’ he said without looking at me.
‘Cole…’
‘He loves you, Becky. Any fool can see that. And you love him.’ He held up a hand to stop me interrupting. ‘Oh, I won’t pretend it doesn’t hurt. Love doesn’t switch itself off overnight. But I really do want you to be happy, I always did.’
‘I’m so sorry. So sorry.’ I didn’t know what I was apologising for, but I felt I needed to.
‘Don’t be. I’m not.’ He planted a soft kiss on my hair. ‘Goodbye, Becky Finn. I’ll miss you every day.’
I tried to say goodbye back, but the word stuck in my throat.
Half an hour later, he was gone.
Chapter 41
You are coming to rehearsal tonight, aren’t you? Worried about you, Becks.
I glanced at the message from Lana. It was the third one this week, not to mention the two from Deano and a load from Marc.
Other than going out to work, I’d been locked in the house for a week now, trying to get to grips with my thoughts. I’d told everyone I’d appreciate a bit of space, but in a village like Egglethwaite, ‘recluse’ wasn’t in most people’s vocabulary.
Not tonight, I messaged back. Can’t face it. Ask Deano to do my lines.
It’s been a week. Come on, come out. Pretty hard to rehearse Cinderella without Cinderella.
I’m just a bit emotional right now, that’s all. I’ll see you at the press showing next week, I promise.
It buzzed again, but it wasn’t Lana this time. It was yet another message from Marc, which I didn’t need to open to know it said pretty much exactly the same as all the others he’d sent. But I opened it anyway.
Becks, I feel awful. Please let me come over and talk to you. I’m sorry.
A week after our kiss, I still didn’t know what it was I wanted – needed – to say to Marcus. My head throbbed every time I tried to think about it. Not right now, Marc was all the reply I could manage.
Sleep wouldn’t come again that night. I’d been struggling with it ever since the breakup. I just lay, inhaling the faint smell of turps Cole had left behind, thinking about him and Marcus, all the endings and beginnings of my life, crying soft, wistful tears.
I was still awake at midnight when there was a faint knock at the door.
I thought it was the wind at first, it was so quiet. But a minute later, there it was again.
Who’d be calling at this time? Was it Lana, checking up on me? Or Cole?
When I answered the door, I discovered it was Marcus. He was in his motorbike leathers, helmet tucked under his arm and a faint dusting of fresh snow over his shoulders.
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ he said.
‘You know, I’m trying to be a recluse.’
‘What, that detective from The Pink Panther?’
I couldn’t help smiling. ‘Well, you might as well come in now you’re here.’
In the hall, he took his jacket off and came through to the living room. We took a seat next to each other on the sofa, but he kept a respectful distance, his usual touchy-feely body language nowhere to be seen.
‘I couldn’t sleep.’
‘You said.’
He turned to face me. ‘Becky, look, I’m sorry. I know you said not to come over, but I needed to talk to you, and when you weren’t at rehearsal… I had to see you.’
‘To say what?’
‘Well to apologise, for a start. You know, about what happened last week.’
‘The kiss?’
‘Yeah. I got carried away in the moment, I guess. Being your Prince Charming. I didn’t mean to upset you.’
‘And I didn’t mean to yell at you. Just with Cole… well, I’m a bit all over the place right now.’
He examined my face. ‘You’ve been crying.’
I brushed the remains of a tear off my cheek. ‘Crying for the end of something. That’s not the same as wishing it hadn’t ended.’
‘So it’s really over?’
I glanced down
at my ringless finger. ‘Yes. He’s going back to London.’
‘What happened?’
‘He told me he didn’t want kids.’ I smiled sadly. ‘It was a dream I just couldn’t give up on.’
He stretched a comforting arm around my shoulders and shuffled closer.
‘I’m sorry, Becky. You should’ve said something.’
‘I just wanted to get through the panto without any additional drama.’
‘You know you can tell me anything, don’t you?’ he said gently. ‘I’m your friend.’
I looked up at him, eyes swimming again. ‘Marcus, at rehearsal –’
‘Honestly, I’m so sorry.’ He reached up to wipe a tear from my cheek. ‘Once I got you in my arms, I couldn’t help it.’
‘I didn’t know you… um, that you saw me like that,’ I said, cheeks flushing with confusion. The look in his eye wasn’t one I’d seen there before. It seemed to be a combination of tenderness, puzzlement and… I don’t know, something else. And though he could see I was embarrassed, he didn’t withdraw his gaze.
‘Neither did I,’ he said quietly. ‘Until last week.’
‘Why?’ I could feel the arm he had around me trembling.
‘Truth is… look, Becks. We’re friends, right?’
‘Course.’
‘This last year working on the panto, it feels like we’ve sort of become best friends, you know? Even when it felt like the whole thing was a disaster, it was still the most fun I’ve had with a girl – well, ever. Getting to know you, feeling so comfortable with you…’
‘That’s how I felt too.’
‘But I never really thought about… anything else. You were engaged, so yeah, there was a cheeky flirt here and there, and I won’t deny I’ve had the odd sly look at your legs in those tights when we’ve been getting changed, but there was this sort of off-limits screen in my brain that stopped me seeing you as anything more than a mate.’ His eyes moved over my face. ‘When I kissed you last week, it’s like that barrier just dissolved. Like I –’ He swallowed, and when he spoke again his voice was hoarse. ‘I just realised I’d really, really like to see your legs without the tights.’
His gaze was locked into mine, and his lips had parted.
‘You said Cole was gone because of me,’ he whispered. ‘What did you mean?’
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it.’
His other arm slipped round me in a full embrace. ‘Tell me what you meant, Becky.’
‘Well, he worked out I was… he knew I was… attracted. Um, to you, I mean. That’s not the only reason we broke up, but… yeah, it was a factor.’
‘You were attracted to me?’
‘I couldn’t help it.’ I let my arms wrap around his neck. ‘I thought, after Cole left, that maybe it was my subconscious’s way of telling me he wasn’t right for me. But…’
‘But?’
‘I think it was a bit more basic than that.’
‘Oh God, Becky,’ he whispered, and his voice was shaking. ‘Come here.’
Before I had time to process what was happening, his lips were on mine.
And this wasn’t stage kissing, cold and choreographed and cautious, but real, full-on, no-holds-barred kissing. There was a determination to the way his tongue parted my lips, a passion that caught me off guard for a second. But I responded. Oh God, I responded, with every fibre and nerve. His hand slid to my back and he pushed my body against his.
Eventually he drew back, his breath coming through in short pants. He slid his hand inside my pyjama top, shivering as he caressed my back.
‘Marcus…’ I whispered, nuzzling into his neck.
‘Becks, can we – I don’t know what’s happening, and you just broke up with someone, and a week ago I didn’t even know this was ever going to be a possibility. But Jesus, I want to be with you now. I want to kiss you again and for you not to tell me to stop.’
‘Then you should.’
‘You really want me to?’
‘Yes. Yes, Marc.’ I was too far gone to turn back now.
He gave his head an angsty shake. ‘No. You’re vulnerable.’
‘I’m not, I’m really not.’ I stroked his cheek. ‘I want to.’
‘We should wait. It’s not the right time.’
He drew back, panting; holding my gaze. I didn’t say a word. Just waited for him to make his choice.
‘Oh God, I don’t care,’ he said at last. ‘I don’t care.’
He pulled me to him and buried his face in my neck, planting fast, fevered kisses under the collar of my pyjamas.
‘Is it ok?’ he murmured against my skin. His fingers were already toying with the buttons of my pyjama top. ‘I need you to tell me it is.’
‘It’s ok.’ I gasped as he twisted my face around to kiss the sensitive flesh behind my ear. ‘Don’t stop, please.’
‘I don’t want to have sex with you because you need to be with someone, Becky. I want to have sex with you because you need to be with me.’
‘Are you kidding?’ I bit my lip as he unfastened the last button of my shirt and stripped it off me. ‘You’ve been on my mind for months.’
‘Seriously?’ He dropped to his knees on the carpet and buried his face in my chest.
‘Yes. Ah!’ I gasped as he flicked his tongue over my nipple. ‘Couldn’t stop thinking about you, about… this. That’s why I had to stop coming round to yours.’
He laughed breathlessly. ‘In case you accidentally ravished me?’
‘Something like that.’
He trailed his fingers lightly under my flimsy pyjama bottoms while he explored my breasts with his mouth.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he murmured. He hooked his thumbs into my waistband and guided my pyjama bottoms, the last stitch of clothing I had on, off my body.
‘I just wanted it to go away,’ I whispered. ‘I tried to make it go away, but… well, it wouldn’t.’
‘Good.’ He kissed softly from my knee up my thigh. His fingers mirrored his mouth, sliding up between my legs, and I heard a faint, guttural groan at the back of his throat.
His tongue rolled against the flesh of my inner thigh. I pushed my hands deep into his hair, and he shivered.
‘Wait. Stop,’ I gasped.
He looked up at me. ‘What’s wrong? Don’t you like it?’
‘Yes.’ I was panting heavily and it took me a second to get my breath back. ‘It’s our first time, that’s all. I want to… do it properly. Can we go upstairs, Marc?’
He hesitated. ‘To your room?’
I knew what he was thinking. My room. My bed. The one I’d shared with Cole.
‘To the spare room.’
‘Oh. Ok.’
He stood and lifted me easily. I wrapped my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist; clung on tightly, bashful of my nudity, while he carried me up the stairs.
He carried me into the spare room and plonked me on the bed. I pulled him down on top of me, opening my lips to him for a deep kiss.
‘You sure it’s ok for us to do this?’ he whispered when he broke away.
‘You couldn’t go now.’
‘No.’
He stood to remove his clothes, stripping out of his t-shirt, the heavy motorcycle trousers. When he was as naked as me, he stretched himself out on the bed.
I’d seen him semi-starkers plenty of times when we’d been changing backstage. Dreamed about him. But actually touching him made it all so real. I felt a wave of pleasure to think I could finally have him right there, under my fingers.
I ran my hands over his body while we kissed: the smooth chest, the inviting ripples of his stomach, the little sun tattoo with its almost invisible scar, finally trailing my fingertips over the solid erection pressed against my middle.
‘Do I get the Becky Fi
nn seal of approval then?’ he asked softly when I’d had a good explore.
‘I’d say you just about make the grade.’
He traced my shape reverently with one finger. ‘Not so bad yourself.’
I rolled him on top of me, legs weaving round his, and he glided over my body, pressing kisses onto every inch of bare flesh. Hot skin against hot skin, backs of his nails trailing along my hips, my thighs, and his tongue, which seemed to sense it was welcome anywhere, teasing at the spot behind my ear that was always a guaranteed winner. I don’t know how he knew that, but he did.
‘Condom?’ he muttered.
‘Next door.’
‘Ok, go on.’
I grabbed a sheet off the clothes horse in the corner to wrap round me, then went to dig out a condom from my bedside cabinet. When I’d found the foil packet I went back, holding it aloft like a trophy.
He laughed. ‘You look like the Statue of Liberty.’
‘Do you fancy her too?’
‘Never could resist a girl in a toga.’ He pulled me unceremoniously back onto the bed, stripped me of the sheet and homed straight in on the skin behind my ear.
‘How did you know I like that?’ I breathed.
‘Lucky guess.’
‘Really?’
He rolled his tongue over me, flicking the end like he was getting the last bit of raspberry syrup off a 99.
‘All right, no,’ he whispered. ‘From juggling.’
‘Juggling?’
‘Yeah. When I stood behind you, if I breathed on you just there, it always made you shiver. Don’t think I didn’t notice.’
‘Bastard! You used to turn me on on purpose?’
He grinned. ‘And still never dropped a ball.’ He ran one finger down my cheek. ‘We’ve had some fun together, haven’t we, Cinders?’
‘Let’s have a bit more.’
I ripped open the condom and rolled it on. He groaned as he manoeuvred himself inside me, yanking my leg up to wrap around his back.
‘Jesus, Rebecca,’ he whispered. ‘You have no idea how good that feels.’
‘You know, you don’t have to call me by my full name just because we’re having sex.’
‘Sorry, love. Just trying to keep it classy.’
The Perfect Fit Page 29