‘Claire messaged me not long after you went.’ He sighs and I can picture him running his hands through his hair. ‘She’s going to Spain.’
‘Oh. That’s nice.’ He’s woken me up from my nightmare to tell me about the mother-of-his-child’s holiday plans. Really? I’m already struggling with the friends concept, but I definitely need more than ‘friends’ for this kind of thing. Snog buddies and shag buddies have far more privileges than plain old buddy-buddies.
‘No it’s not! How can I see Alfie if he’s in bloody Spain?’
‘Well it’s only for a week or two—’ As the words come out of my mouth, something twigs in my drowsy brain. ‘What, you mean—’
‘She’s going to stay out there, live there, with Alfie. Soon, like as soon as she can get flights sorted.’
‘What?’ He has my full attention now. I push all the bedclothes aside and sit upright.
‘Fuck.’ There’s the sound of him banging his hand against something. ‘Who the hell does she think she is?’
I want to say calm down, but when did saying that ever help?
I’m worried about him. And I can hear strange background noises. ‘Where are you?’
‘What? Well, er, I’m not really sure. Near Tesco? I’m driving round, it helps me think. I needed to get my head round it and I can’t ring the solicitor at this time of night.’
They do on TV cop shows. Although that’s probably if they’ve been arrested, or somebody has died.
I make a snap decision; he needs to talk and I can’t go to his place. I’ve been drinking, and he has to be Mr Squeaky Clean. Even though she’s not here, she might have spies watching his place to keep notes about all the late-night female comings and goings. If there were to be any. ‘Come over here.’
‘What?’
‘Please, you need to talk to somebody and you’re halfway here already. Unless you’re actually near Waitrose, which is way over the other side of town.’
‘No, it’s Tesco.’ I can hear the smile in his voice. ‘Want me to bring anything?’
‘Just you.’ I say, casual on the outside, but churning up on the inside.
Shit, I need to tidy my room. Tidy myself.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Is it very wrong that there’s a big worry he could lose Alfie, and I’m wondering if I have a chance to wash and dry my hair before he gets here?
It’s just I’m a rank, sweaty mess with total bed hair and it will make him feel worse sitting with somebody who smells, won’t it? It would be like offloading your innermost secrets to a bag lady who hasn’t washed for months. Not that there is anything wrong with a bag lady, and not everybody has personal hygiene options – but I do and so I owe it to him to tidy up and present my best side. In his moment of need I don’t want him to remember me as somebody he couldn’t wait to get away from.
I’ve showered and kicked all my rubbish under the bed, and my hair is damp but clean, when I hear Harry’s bellow. I give the room a quick onceover, pull the duvet cover straight and bomb out onto the landing.
‘There’s another guy at the door for you, Al! Do we let this one in or put him in the body-bag in the shed with the other one?’
‘I’m glad you’re taking me seriously!’ I say primly to Harry who has one wellington-clad foot wedged firmly behind the door. He has a can of beer in his hand. I’ve never seen him holding anything but a bacon sandwich, coffee, or gardening implement. This is new. It makes him seem more human.
‘That’s the new one, you daft twat,’ says Zoe, who has appeared on the stairs behind me and is leaning over the bannister. I think they might be taking my demands a tad too seriously. ‘Let him in. Unless you’ve changed your mind, Al? I don’t mind entertaining him.’
I shake my head. ‘Hands off, he’s got enough problems.’
‘I like solving problems.’ She grins.
‘So is it a yes or no?’ asks Harry, still acting as door stopper. He’s very effective.
‘Yes!’ I shout, worried that Jamie will have given up and wandered off by now.
Harry relents and throws the door open wide. ‘Enter! Beer?’
Jamie looks slightly confused, but at least he’s still there.
‘Really glad you let me do your hair, chick. That must be why you’re so popular, and this one is way sexier than the last one! It looks cool, doesn’t it?’ Zoe directs the second comment down the stairs, and Jamie and Harry both nod. ‘Super! My job here is done. See you lot tomorrow, I’m off to find somebody shaggable. Unless?’ She looks from Jamie to Harry. Harry gulps and dives into the kitchen.
Jamie shakes his head. ‘Like she says, I’m in enough trouble already.’
‘Come up.’ I motion up the stairs, and he bounds up.
‘Is it chaos everywhere you go?’
‘Pretty much.’ I smile. ‘I’m not quite sure how I managed to swap home for this place.’
‘It suits you, maybe you’d miss all the noise and borrowing if you were somewhere quieter?’
‘I wouldn’t mind trying it.’ He raises an eyebrow. ‘Okay, okay, you’re right. It was horrible when I flew off the handle and nobody was speaking to me. I think I’m working out how to get some kind of balance though.’
‘Good.’ He smiles. ‘You’d be welcome round at my place if you needed to escape, but…’ That hangs in the air for a moment. ‘Except it won’t bloody matter soon anyway. I’m screwed.’
‘She can’t just go out to live in Spain, she can’t stop you seeing him, can she?’
‘Well I didn’t think so, but I wanted to keep this friendly.’
‘You can object and, she’s not got a house, or school for Alfie, or…’ I’m floundering. Then it hits me! I’ve got it. We’ve been overreacting. ‘Ha! Visas! She needs a visa, she’s not got a visa or whatever, or a job, and…’ I feel I have to add even more obstacles on top, even though the visa is a gamechanger. Thank God for Brexit. Well, there are four words I never thought I’d say. ‘And she can’t even speak Spanish, I bet!’
‘She can,’ he says glumly.
‘How can she? I mean, not properly.’ She doesn’t look like she speaks Spanish. Not that I jump to instant conclusions about people or anything.
I used to tell people I could speak French, because I had a grade A at GCSE. But that is holiday French, it isn’t French-French, is it?
‘Fluently. She’s got Spanish citizenship.’
‘Really? She doesn’t look it!’ I am dubious. I’m not going to get into stereotypes here, but she doesn’t. Put it this way, she looks nothing like Carmen, or the topless Spanish beach babes Dad couldn’t take his eyes off when we went to Mallorca the first time.
He sounds a bit defeated as he sinks down onto the bed. Not like Jamie at all. Jamie doesn’t panic, or flap, or give up. So, I stop trying to imagine slim blonde orange-tanned (yes, I can be bitchy) Claire cooking paella or dancing the salsa for a moment and concentrate on him. ‘She is. She’s got family out there; they’ve got a villa practically on the beach. She told me when…well, you know.’
I bet she did. She tried every trick in the books including a skirt so short I could see that she was wearing knickers. They were pink. Bright, tarty pink, not just any pink.
‘And she says it’s what she always planned on doing eventually, moving over permanently.’
I sit down next to him. Try to stop babbling, try to stop thinking about Claire, and talk in more measured, helpful tones. One of us needs to be logical here, to be calm. It has to be me.
She is such a total cow though.
‘I still don’t think she can just go, can she? I mean, not now you know.’
‘I honestly haven’t a clue, Alice. But it makes it harder, doesn’t it, if she’s there and I’m here?’
‘But you’ve met him, she knows you want to see him grow up.’
‘But it could take months to sort out; he’ll have forgotten who I am. I don’t even know if she has to take any notice of the law here if she’s there. She won’t
answer my calls, Alice, she doesn’t want to talk. It was never supposed to be complicated, she said.’
‘Yeah, but babies are,’ I point out.
‘She says I know about him; I’ve met him now and isn’t that enough?’ He looks at me, his blue-grey eyes clear. ‘But it isn’t.’ His voice has an edge. His despair has given way to obstinacy. Much better.
‘No, it isn’t enough. I’m sure the law has to be on your side,’ I say with all the confidence of somebody who hasn’t a clue. I mean, you hear these horror stories where the parents are different nationalities, and they divorce, and the bitter father takes his kids to outer Mongolia or somewhere and the mother never sees them again until she sells everything so she can change her appearance, her name and her residency status and hitchhike over on a camel. And she’s penniless and the kids don’t care about her anymore.
Happens, doesn’t it? All this is going through my head, but I don’t say any of it.
‘You’d hope so,’ he says.
I nearly shriek ‘what’, because I’m still thinking about camels, then I realize we’re both hanging on to the hope that the law is on his side.
Jamie sighs. ‘I’ve emailed my solicitor, so as soon as she’s in the office on Monday she’ll get back to me hopefully.’
‘I’m sure she will. Maybe Claire’s just threatening to go to get you to back off?’
‘I don’t think so.’ He groans. ‘Sorry for offloading on you.’
‘I don’t mind at all. You’ve helped me, with the desk, and the lock. That’s what friends are for, eh?’ Although friends don’t feel like this. Friends don’t want to kiss the other person’s face off and drag them into bed.
He nods, his gaze intent, not saying anything for a moment.
Any minute now and he’s going to say he’ll go. I don’t want him to go, I want to spend a bit more time together. Talk. I resist the urge to grab his hand, or his leg Leo-style.
Instead I reach for the bottle of wine.
‘You don’t fancy a glass of wine, do you? Shame to waste it, and I dozed off before you rang, so didn’t get far.’
‘Shit sorry, you had company?’ The features of his face tighten, and he glances round as though he half expects somebody to pop out from under the bed.
‘It was Soph, she popped in and had a glass, then shot off to meet Daz.’
‘Ahh. Did the guys let her in?’ He grins. ‘They’re very protective.’
I smile. ‘Nice, aren’t they? They wouldn’t let Dave’s mum in either!’
‘Dave’s mum?’
‘She came with a special delivery.’ I nudge the box with my foot.
‘Big box.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Sorry, I’m being nosy, none of my business.’
‘It’s a wedding dress.’
He raises an eyebrow. ‘In case you didn’t mean it when you told him to bog off?’
‘I don’t think he’s owned up to her yet.’
‘Poor Dave,’ he says unexpectedly as we both stare at the box. ‘Nobody wants to look bad in their parent’s eyes, do they?’
‘No, but he probably shouldn’t have told her we were going to get married, should he? He shouldn’t have assumed I’d say yes.’
‘He shouldn’t.’
‘He just thought I’d be a pushover, go along with it for an easy life.’
He smiles. ‘But you’re no pushover, Alice. You never really have been, have you?’
I push the box under the bed, out of sight.
‘I shouldn’t drink any more wine, I’m driving, and I had a glass earlier.’ He stands up.
‘Sure.’ Shit, he is going to go. But I can’t try and persuade him to drink-drive, can I?
‘Do you fancy some fresh air? A walk?’ he says abruptly.
I’m putting my shoes on before he can change his mind.
I’ve never been for a middle of the night walk before, apart from when I’ve been staggering back from the pub and the only thought on my mind is whether I can manage to stay on the pavement.
We turn away from the town and head up the lane where there are no streetlights, just the moon and stars, and soft ambient light that you can’t escape from the distant houses – and then take the footpath that tracks across common land. The silence, the dark, makes it feel strangely intimate. As though we’re the only two people on the planet.
I might not live in the middle of the countryside, but I’m right on the edge. Straddling the two worlds.
It’s a warm evening, the sky clear and dark.
We fall into step effortlessly. Our hands brush together, like they did when we were walking home after the barbecue, and this time it isn’t just his little finger that catches mine. It’s his whole hand.
It’s warm. Comfortable. It feels the most natural thing in the world – holding hands. Our sides bump as we walk across the uneven land and his grip tightens on mine.
I take a deep breath of the night air and then glance up at him, and all of a sudden it feels as though anything is possible. As though we’re back at that festival and it’s a new start. It’s as if just here, now, in this moment the rest doesn’t matter.
This time there are no jostling crowds, nobody to drag us apart, to sweep us along.
‘Cold?’ His voice is soft, the back of his hand strokes along my cheek.
‘No.’ I shiver as I lean into his touch.
His hand drops and our fingers tangle together, and then our lips meet, and there is no grasping or touching, just the pureness of the kiss. It only lasts a few seconds, but the dryness of his lips and the heat of his body is imprinted in mine.
‘Shall we go back?’
I nod, and we retrace our steps. Not talking, not hurrying.
The house is quiet when we enter. The lounge and kitchen deserted, but we tiptoe up the stairs as though we’re doing something we shouldn’t, and that illicit feeling heightens my senses – my heart is pounding, my legs are trembling and my lips quiver when his mouth comes down over mine as he pushes my bedroom door shut behind us.
He pulls my top over my head, barely breaking the kiss, his touch on my bare skin startling even though I am expecting it. My scalp tingles as his fingers run through my hair, my muscles tense and tremble with each touch.
Foreplay has never been like this before. With every nerve ending on high alert, with the anticipation bubbling up inside so that it’s unbearable.
I want him to hurry, but I want him to go slow. I want it to happen, but I want to hold on to this moment for as long as possible. This perfect nearly there moment.
We don’t say a word. It’s not fumbling, clashing, clothes-ripping, but we’ve both got a slightly desperate edge, a desperate need, as though nothing could divert us from this. Nothing can stand in our way.
It feels like it was inevitable. That this was always meant to happen.
‘Alice?’ He gazes into my eyes, his breathing heavy and I’m glad he hasn’t said ‘this is wrong’, or ‘it’s not fair on you’, or ‘should we?’, or ‘are you sure?’ because I don’t want it spelling out, or questioning. He knows. The way he says my name asks everything.
‘It’s okay,’ I say softly, ‘I know this doesn’t change anything, I just want this now. Us.’
Then I wrap my legs around him, cup his face with my hands, lift slightly so my lips meet his and it is better than the promise all those years ago.
It’s like riding a horse into the sea, one minute grounded and steady, the next faltering and uncertain, until with that final step the beach disappears and it’s effortless with a rhythm all of its own that we can’t hold back, we can’t control.
I gaze into his eyes. He’s holding my hands pinned either side of my head, and he leans down and plants the lightest of kisses on my swollen lips.
I blink back up at him, slightly dazed. Wow, that was unexpected. So was the feeling of galloping horses. The last time I experienced that I was on a runaway pony and was screaming my head off. At least I wasn’t scream
ing this time, well I hope I wasn’t. Our resident sexpert will have something to say about it tomorrow if I was.
‘Okay?’ he says softly. I’m pretty sure he hadn’t planned it, I’m pretty sure it was impulsive on both sides, but at least he doesn’t look like he regrets it either.
I smile. He rolls to one side.
We lie side by side, holding hands, staring into each other’s eyes. And then he pulls me into his arms, against his body, and I rest my head against his chest, his chin resting on my head. And I can’t help it, my eyelids are so heavy. It’s late, my whole body is tired. I feel drained in a happy way. I close my eyes, feel his steady breathing filtering through my body.
When I wake, weak daylight is edging its way through the window. We haven’t moved.
I tilt my head slightly to look at him and he’s watching me.
‘How long have you been awake?’
‘Shhh.’ He twirls a strand of my hair around his finger, drawing me closer, closer…then his lips are on mine in the gentlest, warmest touch, that still manages to fizzle its way right to my core.
‘Is it wrong that I still want you?’ His voice is husky. ‘You’re irresistible, you know.’ He nibbles my ear, bathing my skin with his warm breath, sending a shiver of goosebumps down my neck.
‘I know what I’ve got to do.’
‘Ugh?’ I open one eye. Jamie is sitting on the edge of the bed. Fully dressed.
How come I blink in my sleep, and he’s awake, whereas he can get up walk round and get dressed and I sleep through it?
‘If she goes to Spain, then I’m going out there as well.’
‘What?’ Both my eyes are wide open. I’ve been lying here wallowing in that after-sex feeling, and he’s been planning on going to Spain?
‘I stand more chance of persuading her to come back, and it will look better in the courts I reckon?’
‘Well…’
‘And, well…’ He shrugs his shoulders. ‘Living in Spain for a bit has its benefits eh? Sun, beaches, cheap beer.’
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