by Kate Hewitt
But if it wasn’t going to go anywhere, maybe patience was just another way of wasting his time.
“There’s nobody to bring, Mum, sorry,” he said apologetically. “But I’ll be there.”
He ended the call and stared out the window of his classroom at the dusky afternoon, trying not to feel dispirited. The prospect of a weekend home always dented his spirits a bit, although he tried to hide it, even from himself. Still, with that in mind as well as Laura’s recent seeming avoidance of him, it was hard not to feel the tiniest bit down.
When he went home his father was undoubtedly going to ask, in about five different ways, what he was doing with his life, and right now James was wondering the same thing.
The move to Wychwood-on-Lea nearly six months ago now had been a bit impulsive, but it had also felt right. He was tired of city life—the commute, the small flat, the rush everywhere, the lonely sense of anonymity. He’d also been watching All Creatures Great and Small on the telly at the time, which might have had something to do with his rose-tinted view of a thirtyish man making his home in a picturesque village.
Now he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been a naïve idiot, moving to a village with a population of two thousand and literally no single women, as far as he could see. The only one he’d met so far was Laura. Perhaps he should join one of those dating sites, but he resisted the notion instinctively. At heart he was a pretty old-fashioned guy, a lot like his dad in that respect. In only that respect.
Outside the shadows were gathering and James knew he wasn’t in the right headspace to mark another twenty lots of homework on formal and informal language in Michael Morpurgo’s War Horse.
He slid the workbooks into his bag and reached for his jacket. It was chess club that evening, but he didn’t think he was in the right headspace for that, either, what with Edwin’s off-colour remarks and some of the members’ super-competitiveness. Their pedantic insistence on touch moves could annoy him if he let it.
Even so, the prospect of another night at home, eating alone, watching telly or doing work, filled him with a weary sort of despair. He wanted more from his life than this. The evenings he’d spent with Laura and her kids had been the highlight of his week lately.
He knew she was worried she was presuming too much, but in truth James felt as if she couldn’t presume enough. If she appeared in front of him right now, asking if he’d like an evening of talking about Minecraft with an eleven-year-old and weathering a fourteen-year-old’s moody sulks, not to mention coffee on the sofa with Laura herself, he’d say yes please in a heartbeat.
But she wasn’t asking. She’d been more or less avoiding him since Monday night, when they’d had that coffee on the sofa and for a few seconds it had all seemed so promising.
“James?”
He looked up, startled, as he stepped outside his classroom. He’d thought the school had emptied out save for the cleaners, but there was Laura, smiling nervously as she stood in front of him, almost as if he’d magicked her up by the power of wishful thinking.
“Hey. I was just thinking about you,” he said, even though he suspected it was unwise and would turn her skittish again.
To his surprised delight, it didn’t. “And I was just thinking about you.”
“Were you?” A grin tugged at his mouth as his mood started to lift. This evening was looking better already. Much better.
“Yes…I’m sorry I’ve avoided you the last few days. Although maybe you haven’t noticed.” She let out an uncertain laugh.
“I have noticed,” James replied. They began to walk down the corridor towards the front doors; he sensed Laura needed a moment to gather her thoughts, or perhaps her courage.
Outside twilight had settled softly over the village, lending it a cloak of wispy violet. They started together down the high street.
“Where’s Sam?” he asked after a moment, when Laura had remained silent.
“He’s at William’s again. And Maggie has art club. So I have an hour free, and I’m not sure what to do with it.” Another one of those little laughs. “I went home and walked Perry,” Laura continued, “and then I came back to school…to see you.”
Now that sounded promising. “And why did you want to see me?” James asked, striving to keep his tone friendly and light when part of him felt like taking her by the shoulders and demanding she tell him what she was on about. Or maybe taking her by the shoulders and kissing her.
She looked so lovely, swathed in a bright red parka, her hair in a dark cloud about her face, her cheeks and lips rosy from cold.
“Well…to apologise for avoiding you,” Laura said, and the hesitant note in her voice told James that she was backtracking again. James decided to wait her out, and didn’t reply. “Where are we going, anyway?” she asked after a few minutes. They’d walked the length of the high street and were by the village green, the gazebo and new play park ahead of them, along with the road towards Chipping Norton. After the village green there was nothing but a nursing home and a petrol station.
James glanced at her and shrugged. “I don’t know. You tell me.”
“Nowhere, I guess,” she said after a moment. “Or maybe anywhere. Shall we walk back up?”
“If you like.” He’d walk up and down the high street all evening if it meant she’d actually say what she wanted to say. What he wanted her to say.
Up they went, past all the shops now cosily lit—the toy shop, and one for vintage clothes, Tea on the Lea and Waggy Tails. Past the school again, and still Laura hadn’t spoken.
She turned left, towards the river, and James followed her onto a quaint little wooden bridge that spanned the river at the top of the village, the buildings tumbling down before them now softly cloaked in darkness.
“Sorry,” she said as she turned to face him. “You must think I’m losing the plot. I just didn’t want an audience.” She eyed him nervously, her fingers pleated together.
James slid his bag from his shoulder as he watched her. “An audience for what?”
“I…” She took a breath. “I’m ready for you to ask me out.”
He eyed her for a moment, knowing how much courage this had taken her, and yet still not able to resist teasing her. Wanting to lighten the moment a little, because Laura was looking at him as if she’d just signed something in blood.
“Well, you know, you could ask me out,” he said. “If we want to be all equal rights about this.”
Her eyes widened and she gave a breathless laugh. “I’m ashamed that idea never even occurred to me.”
“Well?”
“All right, fine. I’ll ask you out. Will you go on a date with me?”
James could feel himself grinning. “Yes, I will.”
“It has to be the last week of February, when Sam and Maggie are on their skiing holiday. I’m not ready to tell them about—well about anything yet. Not until…”
“Not until you decide if it’s worth it?” He sounded light, but her reticence stung a bit. He understood it, of course, but he didn’t like being someone’s secret.
“You might decide it’s not worth it,” Laura fired back. “One date and you might be running for the hills.”
“I don’t think so.” James took a step towards her. Laura’s eyes widened a little but she held her ground.
“Nothing too fancy, either, and preferably not in public. Sorry—I know that sounds rude, but this is a small village and I don’t want to be fodder for gossip.”
Another sting to absorb. “Okay.”
“So I thought maybe dinner at my cottage. Just dinner,” she emphasised. “I’m not…I don’t want you to think…”
“Laura,” he interrupted her with a soft laugh, “trust me, I don’t. And enough with the caveats. We’re going on a date. That’s all I need to know.”
“Okay.” She let out her breath in a rush, the tension easing from her shoulders, which had been inching up to her ears. “Okay.”
James took another step towards her.
He wanted to kiss her badly, but he didn’t know if it was the right moment. Another step, and her lips parted.
“What are you doing?” she asked uncertainly.
“Honestly? Thinking about kissing you. I want to, but I don’t want to rush things.”
Colour flared in her pale face. “I thought that was for after the first date.”
“Well, that might seem like the more accepted time,” he agreed, “but what if we just got it out of the way now? So you’re not stressing about it for the entire date?”
She laughed softly. “I probably would be, to tell the truth.”
“Exactly.” He tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear, letting his fingers skim her cold cheek. She shivered under his touch.
“I haven’t done anything like this in a long time, James,” she whispered. “Married kisses, especially fifteen-year-married kisses, are something else entirely.”
“I’ve been told,” he murmured as he rested his hands on her shoulders, “it’s like riding a bike.”
“Okay.” She closed her eyes and screwed up her face as if preparing for an injection. James laughed softly, although the truth was he was nervous too. They had chemistry, he was sure of it, but it still felt complicated. Fraught. And he hadn’t actually kissed anyone in a while, either. In fact, the last person he’d kissed had soundly rejected him, so…
“Laura, you look as if you’re steeling yourself against something painful.”
Her eyes fluttered open. “Sorry. I’m nervous.”
“So am I.”
“Are you?” She looked so surprised he had to laugh.
“You seem to think I’m this confident Casanova, but I’m really not.”
“I suppose it’s just because of how insanely gorgeous you are,” she returned with a smile, and then, because he couldn’t keep himself from it any longer, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers.
Chapter Fifteen
Oh. Somehow, in the last year, Laura had forgotten she had lips. She’d forgotten how soft and well, lovely another person’s could be against hers, how having her cheek cradled by a big male hand made her feel so precious and treasured, and how much she’d craved this kind of connection.
And then James deepened the kiss, just a little, so they were definitely moving out of the brush territory, and heat flared low in Laura’s belly and broke out along her skin. Oh. Oh.
His hands dropped to her waist and he pulled her just that little bit closer, so excitement raced along her veins and short-circuited everything—she couldn’t think, could barely breathe. How was she supposed to do this again? She reached one hand up to his shoulder and sort of pawed him, looking for purchase, feeling as if she might explode or faint or cry or laugh. Maybe all four. One kiss was utterly overwhelming.
James stepped back, and to Laura’s bemused gratification she saw he was affected too—thank goodness. She didn’t think she could have borne it if he’d looked coolly unruffled, given her a charming and slightly smug smile and said something like: See that wasn’t so bad, was it?
Instead he looked as gobsmacked as she felt. His hair was ruffled and his cheeks were pink and he was breathing hard. Good.
“I don’t foresee any problems in that area,” he said after a moment, his voice slightly hoarse. Laura realised she was grinning. And breathing as hard as he was.
She tucked her hair behind her ears, her mind still spinning. Half of her wanted to grab him by the lapels of his jacket and haul him closer. Kiss him again, and more.
But she didn’t, because she knew they needed to take things slowly, for her sake as well as for her children’s, and already just that one kiss had just catapulted her into a whole other stratosphere of hoping, dreaming, wanting.
“Well,” she said, because she couldn’t think of anything else to say.
James nodded as if she’d said something extraordinarily profound. “Well,” he agreed.
They turned from the bridge and started walking back towards town, both of them silent and, Laura thought, spinning. At least she was.
“Are Sam and Maggie looking forward to their skiing holiday?” James finally asked as they passed by the school once more, and for some reason Laura couldn’t keep from bursting into laughter. He looked on, bemused, a smile tugging at his mouth. “What?”
“It’s just…I don’t… My mind is still back on that bridge.”
“Mine too,” he agreed, giving her a look of such, well, heat, that Laura’s stomach fizzed. She really hadn’t expected this level of attraction, of chemistry, between them. It felt as if she’d swallowed a firework. She was buzzing.
They parted company in the middle of the high street, where James was to turn onto a narrow lane of terraced cottages where he lived.
“Someday I’ll show you my house,” he promised, “when it doesn’t look like a construction zone.” Laura nodded her agreement, and they both stood uncertainly on the pavement for a moment; Laura suspected James wanted to kiss her again, and the truth was, she wanted to be kissed.
But there were people hurrying by, including a gang of schoolchildren Maggie’s age, and she wasn’t ready for that level of publicity, so she gave him a funny little wave and continued down the street. Her lips were still tingling.
As she walked back towards Willoughby Close, Laura felt as if her mind—and body—had been blown right open. It was just a kiss, yes, of course it was, but it felt like so much more. She’d turned a corner, started a new chapter or maybe even a whole new book… Her life felt wide, wide open, and the realisation brought a sudden hard clench of anxiety. She needed to ring Chantal.
“We’re going on a date,” she blurted as soon as Chantal had answered. “And…he kissed me. I kissed him. I mean, we kissed.”
“Girl!” Chantal’s crow of exultation was exactly what Laura had expected, and made her smile, although she suddenly felt quite weirdly emotional. “How was it?”
“It was amazing,” she said honestly. “Far more amazing than I expected. I felt like I’d put my finger in an electric socket, but in a good way.”
“That sounds promising. Very promising.”
“It was.” Laura let out a shuddery breath. “And he was so lovely and sweet, Chantal, honestly I think…I think I could…” No, she couldn’t say it. It was far too soon. “I think I’m hyperventilating,” she said instead as her head started to swim.
She stopped right there on the dark road, her phone pressed to her ear, as her breath came in shallow pants. “I think I might actually pass out.”
“Put your head between your knees,” Chantal instructed, utterly unfazed as always.
“I’m on the side of the road—”
“Do it. And take slow, deep breaths.”
Obediently Laura bent over double, her head hanging between her knees, her phone still camped to her ear, as she did her best to breathe slowly. She felt ridiculous, but at least it was working.
“What’s wrong with me?” she moaned to Chantal. “I was so excited, it was the best kiss I’ve had in ages, and now I’m practically having a heart attack here.”
“The two are obviously related. The best kiss you’ve had in ages? You feel guilty, Laura.”
Laura squeezed her eyes shut as her head started to swim again. “And you think I should?”
“No, of course I don’t, but it doesn’t matter a flying fig what I think! It’s what you think. What you feel. And right now you feel guilty.”
Slowly, as if an invisible hand had pushed her right over, Laura sat back onto the damp grass by the side of the road, her knees drawn up to her chest. “I do,” she whispered. “I really do.”
“Why do you think that is? This is, by the way, something you should talk to a therapist about, but I’ll give you an impromptu session right now because I love you.”
“I don’t know why,” she said slowly.
“Do you think Tim wouldn’t want you to be happy again?”
Laura closed her eyes as Chantal’s questions hamm
ered at her head—and her heart. “I don’t know. I suppose I don’t think he’d mind.”
“Then what?”
She squeezed her eyes shut harder, unable to avoid thinking about—and answering—the questions she’d been avoiding since Tim had died, and mixed in with the overwhelming grief had been something else. She’d touched on it briefly, ever so briefly, with James, but she knew she needed to be honest with Chantal now. Honest with herself.
“I feel guilty,” she said slowly, squeezing each word out from a too-tight throat, “because I wasn’t a good wife to him. I wasn’t happy with him, especially not at the end. And he died…he died knowing that, or at least suspecting it, I think.” The last came out in a gasp; tears were running unchecked down her face.
“He also knew you loved him,” Chantal said after a pause, her voice both gentle and firm. “And that you supported him. Were you thinking of divorcing him?”
“What?” A shocked hiss of breath. “No.”
“Laura, marriages go through good and bad patches. It’s normal. It’s natural. Or so it seems to me, from the outside. You and Tim ended on a bit of a bad patch. It’s sad that it happened that way, but it doesn’t invalidate fifteen years of love and faithfulness. It doesn’t make you a bad wife.”
Laura couldn’t respond, because she was crying too hard. She made a few gasping, mewling noises that she hoped Chantal took for assent.
“Are you in a safe place?” Chantal asked. “Because you told me you were on the side of the road, and the last thing I need is something terrible to happen while I’m talking to you on the phone. That would seriously set back my mental health.”
Laura managed a little laugh as she mopped her face. “I’m sitting on wet, muddy grass on the side of the road, bawling my eyes out,” she finally managed to choke out. “If anyone comes by, they are going to think I need some serious help.”