Lost for Words

by Andrea Bramhall

  “Okay, let’s see what her ladyship has to say about this one.” Sophie, she’d found, didn’t pull her punches when it came to frank—and brutal—honesty about the merits of any particular outfit. Sasha had a feeling that at someone else’s expense, the commentary would be rather amusing, especially if you didn’t like the person. However, directed at herself… Well, she knew if she found a dress Sophie was happy with, it was going to look bloody gorgeous.

  “So? What do you think?” Sasha held her arms out slightly as she stepped out of the changing cubicle.

  Sophie whistled. “Turn around.”

  Sasha did a little twirl, to another whistle, and bobbed a little curtsey as she faced front again.

  “Perfect.” Sophie stepped forwards and tugged a little on one sleeve, making it lay flatter against her skin. “Absolutely perfect.”

  “No disparaging comments at all?” Sasha asked, relieved beyond measure that they’d finally found one they were both happy with.

  “Just that you’re wearing it and not me.” She winked. “Seriously, it looks stunning. Jac’s going to fall over her tongue when she sees you tomorrow night.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so.” She pushed Sasha into another turn. “Jesus Christ, I could almost go for you myself.”

  Sasha chuckled and gave her a push, then stepped back into the cubicle to change out of it. “I’m sure your wife would just love to hear you say that.”

  “She would if she were invited too.”

  Peeking her head around the curtain, Sasha said, “Ha-ha.”

  “Who said I was joking?” She winked again and leaned back against the wall.

  “I know you’re taking the piss, so you can stop trying to make me blush now.”

  “Why? It was working.”

  Sasha arched an eyebrow at her.

  “Fine, fine.” Sophie threw her hands up. “Tell me what’s going on with Bobbi, then. She’s certainly not seemed herself the last couple of days.”

  Sasha screwed up her face and sniffed. “She’s pissed with me because I’m going out with Jac instead of going to her party on Friday night.”

  “She doesn’t want you to get involved with Jac?”

  “No, it’s not that.” At least I hope it’s not that. “She’d already told me about the party before Jac asked me out. But I forgot about it, agreed to the date with Jac, and then when Bobbi reminded me, I suggested switching the party to Saturday instead of Friday so there wouldn’t be a clash.”

  “So she thinks you’ve ditched her when something better came along.”

  Sasha groaned and reluctantly agreed. “Yeah, but I’ve been trying to talk to her since, to ask her about Jac and I coming to the party together after the play. You know, so I can do both things?”

  “Something tells me that isn’t what Bobbi wants either.”

  “No, probably not.” Change of subject. That’s what’s needed right now. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Yes, Lauren would totally think—”

  “No, silly. Why do you call Jac Pan-pan?”

  “Ah. Well, it’s a bit complicated, my lovely, and it’s really her story to tell. It’s something that goes back a long way. Why?”

  “Just curious. Seems an unusual nickname.”

  “Well, Jac’s a pretty unusual woman. Don’t you think?”

  Sasha nodded as “Puff the Magic Dragon” blared out of her bag, and Sophie’s laughter grew as she fished it out and slid her finger across the screen to answer.

  “Hey, Mum. What’s up?”

  “I need you to pick me up some stuff while you’re out shopping.”

  “Okay, what do you need?” Sasha unzipped the dress with the phone wedged between her ear and shoulder.

  “Hang on, let me read this out.”

  Paper rustled down the line. “You’ve got a list? Why don’t you send me a text with it?”

  “Right, I’ve got it now.”

  Clearly, she hadn’t been listening to Sasha’s end of the conversation.

  “I need batteries, size CR2032.”

  “That’s the wrong size for your hearing aid, Mum. I know which ones you need.” She hung the dress back on the hanger and stepped into her jeans.

  “They’re not for my hearing aid, dear. I need CR2032. And I need four of them.”

  “Fine, what are they for, then?”

  “None of your business.”

  Sasha rolled her eyes. “Anything else, Master?”

  “Yes, I need a tin of that whipped cream. The squirty stuff in the can. You know the one I mean?”

  “Yes. The stuff you said you’d never allow in your house? That stuff?”

  “That’s the one.”

  Sasha pulled her jumper over her head, then put the phone back to her ear. “Right, batteries and squirty cream. Anything else?”

  “Nope.” And then she was gone.

  “Of course I don’t mind being your slave, Mum. Love you too, Mum. See you soon, Mum.” Sasha tossed the phone back in her bag and slung it over her shoulder, grabbed the dress on the hanger, and stepped out of the cubicle.

  “I’ve always got tons of spare batteries for all sorts of things. What sort does she need?”

  “CR2032.”

  “I think I have some back at the office. If memory serves, Mags uses them for her big calculator. Is your mum taking up algebra or something?”

  “No idea. The last I knew, the only thing she’d taken up was Mr Hunt.”

  “Then that would negate the other use I know of for those particular sized batteries.”

  “I dread to ask, but I know you’re gonna tell me anyway. I can see it in your eyes.”

  Sophie leaned close and whispered in her ear. “They operate my industrial-sized, battery-powered vibrator.”

  “I need to stop seeing these images in my head.” Sasha slumped as she took another step. “You are an evil woman, Sophie Angel. Pure and sadistically evil.”

  “Hey, not my fault. I didn’t ask you to buy me vibrator batteries. And what was the other thing again?”

  Groaning, Sasha said, “Squirty cream.”

  Sophie stopped walking, then bent double with laughter. “Your mum’s fucking awesome.”

  Chapter 19

  Jac straightened her tie before she knocked on Sasha’s door, glancing back over her shoulder to make sure the limousine she’d ordered for the evening hadn’t disappeared. Yeah, like limousines do, Jac. Fuck’s sake, chill out, woman. You’re behaving like you’ve never taken a woman out before. I’d give anything for a cigarette right about now. Well, maybe not anything but—

  The door opened and Jac was surprised when a guy with a shine bald head answered the door. He was fairly short, maybe five-foot-four, and had a considerable paunch. She’d never been great at guessing men’s ages, but she’d put him at somewhere in his late fifties, maybe early sixties.

  “Hello,” he said cordially through a thick Yorkshire accent.

  “Hi, I’m Jac. I’m here to pick up Sasha.”

  “Oh, right.” He held out his hand to shake hers. “I’m Mike.” He pointed over her shoulder. “Hunt. From across the road.”

  “Mike Hunt?” Jac asked, pronouncing the words very carefully.

  “Aye, I’m a neighbour from across the road.” He pointed again.

  “You’re Mike Hunt?” That’s got to be a joke. Who would call their kid Mike Hunt? If you’re a bit sloppy pronouncing that H, you could be in big trouble.

  “That’s right. Well, I say ‘neighbour’, but I’m more a friend of her mother’s, truth be told.” He nodded his shiny pate. “Yes, we’re good friends, Fleur and I.”

  Jac nodded, mirroring his actions. Okay. Jac had no choice but to swallow the uncomfortable laughter bubbling in her stomach and run with it. Thanks for t
he heads-up, Sasha. “Nice to meet you,” she said, shaking his soft hand. “Everyone needs good friends, Mr Hunt.”

  “Very true. So where are you and young Sasha off this evening, then?”

  “To the Opera House.”

  He rubbed his hands together. “Lovely. That’ll be right nice. What play are yer takin’ ’er to see?”

  “Peter Pan.”

  “In’t that a kiddie play?” he asked with a frown.

  “It’s a classic play.” Sasha’s throaty voice drew Jac’s attention to the stairs. Her breath caught in her throat, and her brain short-circuited with far too many thoughts and feelings zipping through it. Her mouth had gone dry, and she wasn’t sure if it was because her mouth was hanging open or simply because all the moisture in her body had fled to parts south of the border. Stunning didn’t begin to describe the way Sasha looked. Her hair was coiled in a twist at the back of her head. Smoky eyes gave her a sultry look, highlighted by the deep wine-coloured lipstick, and the figure-hugging dress.

  “My, my, my, don’t you scrub up well, lass.” Mr Hunt’s slightly nasal voice cut through Jac’s appraisal and her disjointed thoughts, and Jac wanted to slap him for the backhanded compliment.

  “She always looks beautiful, Mr Hunt. Tonight she just happens to look even more so.”

  “Aye. That’s what I said.”

  Fleur appeared out of the door to the living room and used a crutch to limp to Sasha. She looked quite unsteady, and her eyes watered as she held Sasha in her arms. “Have a wonderful time, darling.”

  “I will, Mum.”

  Fleur pulled back, looking into Sasha’s eyes while she stroked her cheek. “Love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  Sasha’s eyes were damp, glistening with unshed tears as she stepped away from Fleur and wrapped her hand around Jac’s bicep, leaning over to kiss Jac’s cheek. “Love the tux,” she whispered. “Looks wonderful on you.”

  “Thank you.” Jac beamed. “You really do look absolutely stunning, Sasha. Thank you,” she said as she led her out of the house and into the waiting limousine.

  “What for?”

  “For agreeing to be my date for the evening.” Jac handed her one of the glasses of champagne she’d had the driver prepare for them while she was waiting.

  “Then shouldn’t it be me thanking you?”

  “For…?”

  “For asking me.”

  Jac sipped her drink, settled back in her seat, and chuckled. “Something tells me we could be here all night at this rate.”

  “Hm. Probably.”

  “So let’s agree we’re both grateful and both happy to be here.”

  “Sound like a very good plan, Ms Kensington.” She held up her glass for a toast. “To the night’s adventure.”

  Jac touched her glass gently to Sasha’s. “To all our adventures,” she said and hoped Sasha understood every aspect of what she meant in those four words. The darkening look in her eyes told Jac she just very well might.

  The touch of Jac’s hand on the small of her back was even more delicious than Sasha had imagined it would be as she was ushered up another set of stairs and into one of the boxes to the right-hand side of the stage. The Corinthian column separated their box from the next, and the highly polished marble reflected the lights shining all around them. The huge cantilevered balconies were filling up around them. The sound of hushed voices and shuffling feet against the plush carpet grew despite the air of reverence in the grand old hall.

  “What can I get you to drink?” Jac asked, her mouth close enough to Sasha’s ear that her breath ruffled the tiny hairs on the back of Sasha’s neck. Her hand was warm on Sasha’s upper arm.

  “You don’t have to go back to the bar. It was bedlam down there.”

  “There’s a smaller bar, just through those doors.” Jac pointed over her shoulder. “It won’t take long at all. Wine?”

  “Hm, white, please.”

  “Sure, anything else?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Okay, I won’t be a minute.”

  Sasha smiled and covered the hand on her arm with her own. “Better not be.”

  Jac’s throat worked as she swallowed and almost tripped up over her chair while backing out of their booth.

  Sasha had been to the theatre many times, but she’d never been seated in one of the boxes before. She’d always been in the cheapest seats she could find, way back in the nosebleed section, the ones where you couldn’t really even tell if the actors had faces. Well, not without binoculars, anyway. So this was a real treat.

  The theatre was an old one, opened originally in 1912, and holding seats for almost 2,000 people, for all but a five-year period from 1979 to 1984 when it was a bingo hall, it had been a fixture of Manchester’s cultural scene. And the musicals it had staged were beyond magnificent. Chandeliers, carved friezes, and massive ionic columns held together a symmetrical auditorium that was truly a work of art.

  How many times had she been there before? With her mum or Bobbi, even with Pam—once—watching one of the hundreds of shows she’d seen in the past. But she felt like she was seeing everything for the first time. Part of her wanted to send Bobbi a quick text, maybe a selfie of her with the stage behind her, but she couldn’t do that. Yes, she’d fucked up, but Bobbi was taking this way too far. The punishment did not fit the crime, and Sasha was more than a little hurt. Bobbi was her best friend. Shouldn’t she be happy Sasha was taking her advice, after all? Grabbing life by the scruff of the neck and taking a few chances? Getting out of her comfortable existence, just like Bobbi and her mother had been telling her to do? Everything had been great until she’d actually started doing that, doing what they told her she should do.

  “Take the job, Sasha. Grab on to it.” Then Bobbi walked out because she wasn’t there anymore. Sasha wasn’t stupid. She knew the real reason Bobbi didn’t want to go back to Serenity—even if Bobbi didn’t. She also knew the real reason behind Bobbi’s reaction to this date. It wasn’t just about her not being at Bobbi’s party. It wasn’t even about her being out with Jac. It was purely that she was out with someone—anyone—who wasn’t Bobbi.

  Sasha had known everything was going to change when she’d grabbed hold of this chance of a lifetime. And no matter how much or how often Sasha had told Bobbi that, Bobbi hadn’t believed her. She hadn’t comprehended just how much was going to be affected. Now Bobbi felt abandoned. And Sasha was sickened by how much her friendship with Bobbi was suffering. Tomorrow, she promised herself, she’d get hold of Bobbi tomorrow and apologise again. Maybe go and help with the after-party cleanup. Surely that would get her off the hook and set things right again.

  “One glass of white wine for you,” Jac said as she entered their box again.

  Sitting back in her chair, Sasha took the glass with a broad smile.

  “Thank you.”

  Jac sat beside her as the lights dimmed. The noise settled to silence as darkness crept through the grand hall. She shuffled her chair closer to Jac’s until their shoulders were touching and she could feel the heat of Jac’s body against hers. But it was Jac who took her hand and threaded their fingers together like they belonged together; palm to palm, fingers entwined, thumb brushing across the back of Sasha’s hand. It was perfect. In the dim light of Emergency Exit signs and the twinkle of stage lights from behind the curtain across the old proscenium arch, Sasha lost herself in Jac’s grey eyes as they reflected the stormy passions within. And in that instant, she knew she could spend forever figuring out each emotion as it flittered through Jac’s mind.

  No expectations, she reminded herself. Just enjoy the moment, and let tomorrow take care of itself.

  The narrator’s voice cut through the auditorium and drew their attention from each other and in to the stage. “All children, except one, grow up…”

  Jac almost stumbl
ed down the steps towards the waiting limo, laughing, her hand still entwined with Sasha’s as Jac helped her into the open door of the car. The one the driver was already holding open for them. Sasha didn’t care; the gesture was sweet, and it meant she got to keep hold of Jac’s hand. Something she wasn’t planning on ever letting go of, if she had any say in the matter.

  She laid her head back against the headrest and sighed, while Jac climbed in behind her—their fingers still entwined.

  “Sasha?”

  “Hm?” She turned her head and looked at Jac.

  “I don’t want to be presumptuous or anything, but I… Well, I don’t want this evening to end.” She swallowed and carried on. “Not yet, at least. Would you like to go for a drink before I take you home?”

  Jac seemed as though she couldn’t meet her eyes as she asked, and Sasha wasn’t sure how forward she should be. She didn’t want the evening to end either. At all. Was Jac on the same page? Would Jac be offended if she asked her to take her back to Jac’s apartment instead of going for a drink somewhere? Would Jac think she was easy if she asked Jac to take her to bed? To kiss her, and hold her, and to make love to her? Did she care?

  She rubbed her thumb across the back of Jac’s hand and waited until Jac was looking at her. She could see it in Jac’s eyes then. The desire. The longing. The want. Sasha saw it all and more.

  Sasha leant forwards, brushed her lips across Jac’s cheek, and whispered in her ear, “I don’t want to go home tonight.” She pulled back just enough to see Jac’s eyes again. She trailed her finger down Jac’s jaw, flicked her gaze to Jac’s lips, and waited for her words to sink in.