The Way Back

by Dominique Kyle

  “So he’s backed you up there, Eve, very professionally, I might add. Nish is beginning to get the message, I’d say…”

  Finally, a couple of weeks later, I bumped into Nish in the corridor and he blocked my way.

  “Hi,” I said in neutral tones. “How’s it going?”

  “Good,” he said casually. “Do you fancy dropping in on your way home tonight?”

  I realised this was intended as an olive branch, so figured I’d better take it. “Sure,” I said, equally casually. “See you later then,” and walked off.

  I had a feeling he’d pretend like none of the previous three weeks had happened, and it seemed I was right. I’d also had a hunch that we’d both be pretending that what had gone on during our New Year skiing break also hadn’t happened. But on that score, I was mistaken. When I walked in, he was just emerging out of the shower room, with wet hair and just a pair of shorts on. He walked towards me smiling slipped his hands under my uniform top and pulled me into him with his hands round my bare waist, and then he ran his hand up my back and undid my bra strap.

  “Is this a good idea?” I said, half pulling away.

  His eyes lidded at me. “I think it’s a very good idea,” he said in sultry tones.

  I controlled my breathing, because his hand running up and down my back, and now his hand cupping one breast was making me go all weak at the knees. “I meant, given the fact we’re now officially going to be working on the same team,” I pointed out.

  “Spoil sport,” he said teasingly, unwilling to engage with any serious assessment of the situation. The all too obvious situation in his shorts being the reason why his brain wasn’t engaged right now.

  “We need to talk about how we’re going to deal with this,” I suggested.

  “Later,” he dismissed and pulled my top off in one quick movement and removed my bra and tossed it onto the floor. Then he smiled directly into my eyes and caught me hard into him, his lips seeking mine with urgent intent. He pulled me down on top of him on the sofa and sat me straddled across his lap, my knees on either side, his erection hard between my legs, and thrusting suggestively into me.

  Suddenly I just couldn’t breathe, and not in a good way. My heart was pounding in my head and I was clutching at my diaphragm and doubling over, pulling away from his searching mouth and scrabbling to get away from his demanding body. I was gasping for air and going weirdly dizzy. My breath got faster and faster and I was getting pins and needles all down my arms and fingers and feeling like I was going to pass out. “I can’t breathe,” I gasped out in a panic. “I can’t breathe!” Suddenly I was holding my breath and couldn’t seem to take another breath in. I was definitely on the way to passing out. Everything seemed to be going a bit dark. It was terrifying.

  “Do you have asthma?” He demanded quickly.

  I shook my head, completely panic stricken.

  He glanced around us, “Damn, I don’t have a paper bag…um…wait a sec…” He darted across the room and snatched up a small china bowl and strode back, knelt down on the floor beside me and clamped it over my nose and mouth.

  “What..?”

  “Shut up and just breathe,” he said. He had one hand clamped on the back of my head and the other held the bowl jammed over my face.

  Bewildered, I took a sudden breath in, and then let it out again, then in again and out again, and after a few breathes the strange inability to make my lungs work seemed to be broken. Warmth seemed to flood round my body. He was watching my face carefully. He took the bowl away and looked me steadily in the eyes. “Now just breathe slowly and regularly,” he instructed. “Don’t allow it to speed up…”

  I felt suddenly exhausted and flopped back against the sofa with my eyes closed. “What the hell happened?” I asked him limply. “Why were you doing that with the bowl?”

  He patted my knee. “You were having a panic attack. At school there was a boy who always used to get one the minute he was told he was going to do a solo in a service. They used to leave it to the last minute to tell us who would do it, I guess to avoid nerves and make us all work as hard as we could to earn the right to do it, but he’d just go straight into a panic-attack. They’d always have to have a paper bag at the ready. They tried telling him in advance, but he just got too nervous so they stopped using him.”

  “Paper bag?” I said bewildered.

  “You were hyper-ventilating,” he explained. “When people panic they breathe in too often and too quickly and flood their lungs with oxygen, and it over-rides the body’s autonomic method of knowing when to breathe again, because it’s the build-up of carbon dioxide in the lungs that triggers the next breath. So if you make someone breathe in their own exhaled breath a few times, the carbon dioxide builds up and rights the system again…”

  “Blimey,” I said weakly, looking up at him.

  He smiled reassuringly at me. Then he reached for my uniform top and tossed it to me. I’d forgotten I was lying here half naked. I struggled upright and pulled it back on.

  “I’d never have put you down as the sort to have panic-attacks,” he observed, sitting down beside me. “You never even batted an eyelid when you were leaping out of a high window surrounded by armed terrorists and SAS.”

  “Nope, that’s my first,” I agreed. “And hopefully my last,” I added with feeling. “I had no idea what was happening to me!”

  He was silent for a minute. “It was me, wasn’t it?” He leaned forward with his arms across his knees and looked sideways at me. “It was me forcing you, wasn’t it?”

  I pulled my knees defensively up to my chest and held them there, glancing briefly sideways back at him. I didn’t answer him. I was trying to reach for the reason myself.

  He punched his fist frustratedly into his other palm. “I’m just a disaster zone with women, aren’t I?” He berated himself. “You were trying to stop me. Trying to tell me that you wanted to talk about the situation first and I just completely over-rode you! You’d think I’d have learned by now! What the hell’s wrong with me?”

  I sighed and looked defensively away.

  “God, Eve, I’m so sorry,” he uttered despairingly. “I took no notice of your wishes whatsoever – I just assumed…”

  “Thing is, Nish,” I said at last, as a flash of insight suddenly informed me what the trigger was. “While you’ve been away, I’ve had to go to court as a witness in a sexual abuse trial. I had to undergo some really unpleasant questioning and what you were doing brought back a couple of pretty revolting memories…” I didn’t want to have to tell him that being pulled down onto his lap and made to sit on his hard had sent me into a spontaneous flashback to being in that room with Mohammed and being made to watch a squeamishly disgusting and abusive sex act. But Nish looked narrowly at me and saw something in my eyes. He recoiled. “Shit – it was that Mohammed wasn’t it? The one that looks like me?”

  “According to Sappho,” I dismissed quickly. “I don’t think so much as she made out. But yes, I had to stand there for three days with the complete bastard staring at me across the court…” I shuddered suddenly in the memory of it. At the time I’d been defending myself, keeping the emotional barriers up. It was only now that I realised what an ordeal it had been.

  He gave a heavy sigh and flopped back against the sofa. “All I can say, is ‘I’m sorry’, Eve. I’m such a turd. I admit it. First of all I completely ignore you for weeks. Then I behave like a complete tosser, and tantrum and swear at you. Then I kick up because I don’t want to accept that you’re going to be my engineer, and then I expect you to come round and get straight into bed with me. And now I’m bloody glad that it’s only you here to hear me say all that, because if anyone else ever knew all that they’d just think me a full-on fucking shithead. Which in fact, I am…” he concluded disgustedly. “Mizo gave me a right kick up the arse, I can tell you. He said that he didn’t see me consuming advanced engineering tomes for breakfast, lunch and tea like you do, and if I didn’t want to be shown
up as a total idiot, I should shut up about my prejudiced belief you weren’t up to the job and start concentrating on honing my own skills because you knew a helluva lot more about the job you were being asked to do than I did, and I wouldn’t be able to win a single race without your help.”

  I said nothing. It was humbling to hear about Mizo sticking up for me.

  Nish sat quiet for a moment, then slapped the sofa between us with the flat of his hand. “Shall I make us some tea then?” He offered in a completely different tone of voice.

  It suited me too, to change the subject without having to respond to what he’d said. I smiled slightly at him. “Yeah, that would be nice,” I rewarded him.

  After a few minutes to compose myself, I followed him into the kitchen. He was wandering around still just in his shorts with bare feet on the tiled floor. He always kept his flat hot. He seemed to like wearing light clothing. I couldn’t afford much heating in mine, so I usually bundled up on the fleeces.

  “I suppose if you’re doing the meal, it’s going to involve avocados,” I surmised unenthusiastically. He was on an incredibly healthy diet these days.

  He smiled serenely and said nothing, continuing to chop and peel while humming gently to himself. I half recognised a Full Frontal tune, but he was moving it about a bit. I walked up behind him and put my arms around his waist and rested my cheek against his back. I held him tightly and he let me stay there following him around stroking his hard stomach, pressing my forehead into his spine, fingering the lines of muscles rippling up either side of his vertebrae as he moved.

  “Are you being affectionate or needy?” He inquired at last with a gentle smile and a flick on my cheek.

  “Does it have to be one or the other?” I asked. “I think I’m just feeling grateful.”

  “What about?” He queried lifting his arm over my head to reach for the olive oil.

  “No man’s ever made me a meal before,” I said.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Seriously?”

  I thought about it. “Think so. Can’t remember one any way. ‘Cept Dad of course. He used to make us a Sunday morning fry up…”

  “God, that’s a poor tally for us males, isn’t it?”

  “Do you want me to go away and leave you alone?” I offered.

  He shook his head. “I don’t mind. It’s rather nice actually. I haven’t been touched for so long…”

  “You must be getting sports massages every day,” I pointed out.

  He leant forward and kissed me gently on the lips. “Not touched by someone who cares about me like you do,” he said.

  I glanced swiftly at him, but his gaze was on the balsamic vinegar he was reaching for. “We’re done,” he said flashing me a quick smile, and picked up the two plates in front of him.

  Neither of us mentioned it explicitly, but we both knew I’d be staying that night. We retired early and he was really gentle with me. It was the first time I ever felt that he’d really wanted to spend time on me. The first time I felt he was recognising me as myself and not just a convenient female body.

  Afterwards we lay with limbs entwined and he asked. “How was that?”

  “Exquisite,” I reported sleepily.

  “Wow,” he said, his eyebrows raising queryingly.

  “Each one is different,” I explained. “And that was delicate but exquisite…”

  He smiled and ran a finger slowly down my bare arm.

  “How was yours?” I returned.

  He thought about it. “Contemplative but satisfying.”

  I laughed.

  “Marks out of ten?” He teased.

  I thought about it. “Nine,” I concluded.

  “Wow,” he smiled sideways at me. “What could I have done to get the extra mark?”

  Been in love with me, I thought. But I couldn’t tell him that.

  I went back the following night and we went for a repeat performance. Afterwards I lay across him and kissed him systematically from low on his belly up the central line between his muscles to his chest. I pushed up on my hands and thoughtfully studied his face. He smiled slightly, waiting for the pronouncement, whatever it was.

  “You’re a pretty boy, aren’t you?” I commented at last.

  He smiled a little more. “And you’re kinda cute,” he replied and flipped me over off him, pinning me under him. Despite what Mizo had said about staying on top, I liked it when Nish pinned me down, it felt good.

  “How was Quinn?” He asked a few moments later.

  I frowned. “What do you mean?” I wriggled over on to my side.

  “When you went home? I know he’s living back at home at the mo.”

  “Well you know more than I do,” I said a bit sharply. “How come he texts you every five minutes?”

  “So you didn’t see him then?” Nish sounded a bit surprised.

  I stretched out onto my stomach to avoid him seeing my face. He ran a finger up my spine and I twitched my shoulders irritably at him. “Well, I did,” I reported cautiously, “for about five seconds. He came into the garage while I was dropping by.”

  Nish sensed something from my tone. “So what happened?”

  “He turned his back on me and walked away,” I admitted. “And I’ve wracked my brains and I just can’t think what I’ve done to upset him! But the last time he ever communicated with me was a few days before he left for the U.S.”

  Nish turned me over and looked closely at my face. “So what was the last thing that happened between you then?”

  I shrugged. “Dunno. He came down to support me while you were being held hostage, insisted I wore the GPS locator which he’d fished out of the bin where I’d thrown it a year ago, and alerted the authorities when I disappeared and gave them our last known GPS co-ordinate. And then he turned up at the World Championship, even though he had no idea if I’d be there. And then he was being really sweet that night, telling me he’d been terrified I was going to die, and it had felt like his heart was about to get ripped out by the roots. And then he texted me a few times to make sure I was ok, and then that was the last I heard from him! He buggered off to America and you know more about what he’s been up to than I do since then.”

  There was a short silence. “O-k-a-a-a-y,” Nish said thoughtfully.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “What does o-k-a-a-a-y mean?” I asked suspiciously.

  He flopped over onto his back. “Well, if you don’t know what it means then I don’t think it’s my place to tell you,” he said.

  I sat up and stared down at him. He smiled annoyingly at me, his dark eyes creasing up teasingly. I brought my fist angrily down onto his stomach.

  He grabbed my wrist. “Oy!” He complained. He pulled me sharply down on top of him and held me tightly against him where I couldn’t do any damage. I could hear his heart beating strong and regular in his chest.

  “He’s scared,” he explained.

  “Scared of what?” I asked bewildered.

  Nish hugged me more gently, “Himself,” he said.

  But I didn’t understand what he could possibly mean by that.

  Next morning, when I left the flat I looked back at him where he was standing on one leg holding his other leg bent tightly up behind him, stretching his ligaments out in readiness for his morning session with Niall. I stopped in the doorway.

  “So are we going to work together as a team to get you onto that podium?” I asked him.

  He let go of his leg and stood momentarily facing square on to me. “Well, when you put it like that…” He said. He smiled at me, and picked up his other leg, arching forward to really pull on it. And I walked out, confident that all the recent tension was over and done with, and secure in the knowledge we were going to be ok.

  “Oh my God!” I announced in a mix of wonder, delight, disbelief and gobsmackedness. “I’m actually looking at a kangaroo!” It was like seeing a mythical creature.

  Niall was showing us round his home city, and I kept feeling the whole thing was unreal. Now
we were watching a whole herd of kangaroos in the local park grazing at dusk against a gorgeous sunset. Mothers with babies peeping out of their pockets.

  Nish grinned at my face. “It’s like a real Kanga and Roo toy isn’t it?”

  “Kanga and Roo?” I queried vaguely. One of the babies hopping around on the grass went up to Mum and tipped headfirst into the pouch, wriggled around and stuck his head out again.

  “Poo Bear! Surely you were read that when you were little?” He exclaimed impatiently.

  I shook my head. “Don’t think so… Dad wasn’t any good at reading… But now you mention it – I think I saw the cartoon… I only remember Tigger though – he reminded me of Quinn.” I was watching fascinated as some young males leapt up and down, actually punching each other with their fists and raking at each other with their hind legs like Kick Boxers. I pointed it out to the others.

  “They shoot all the mature males,” Niall told me. “They’re really dangerous and they wouldn’t be able to leave them to wander around in public park.”

  Suddenly a huge cloud of exotic multi-coloured parakeets flew over –blue, yellow, green, with a tiny bit of red…

  “Twenty-Eights,” Niall explained succinctly.

  “Are they called that because someone thought they had twenty-eight colours?” I asked, watching them dart and swerve into the distance.

  “This is Australia,” Niall drawled cynically. “We don’t have any romantic tosh like that… It’s probably the number of the shot used to kill them – they’re complete pests…”

  Behind Niall’s back, Nish rolled his eyes at me. Niall was a bit of a typical Aussie male misogynist and he’d do anything to take a tilt at me. Recently I’d overheard Nish beginning to get a bit narked when Niall took a pot shot at me, and leaping to my defence. I was beginning to realise that Niall didn’t like the influence I had with Nish. He had probably been very happy with the phase when Nish was stalking around snarling about being disrespected by Williams by them foisting a useless female intern on him as his race engineer.