by Maureen Lee
“I thought you’d be one of those superior sort of people who know about such things.” He shared out the food on to the plates.
“And I thought we’d made a fresh start.”
“You’re right. Sorry!” His smile took my breath away.
His face softened and he looked charmingly boyish. I could understand what the nineteen-year-old Flo must have seen in his grandfather.
“Did you and Flo do this often?” I asked, when he handed me my plate.
“Once a week. Mondays, usually, when I finish work early.”
“Where do you work?”
“Minerva’s. It’s a club.”
I’d heard of Minerva’s, but had never been there. It had a terrible reputation as a hang-out for gangsters and a source of hard drugs. Scarcely a week passed when there wasn’t something in the Echo or on local TV about the police raiding it in search of a wanted criminal or because a fight had broken out. As I sipped the rich, musky wine, I wondered what Tom O’Mara did there.
“The wine’s nice,” I said.
“So it should be. It’s twenty-two quid a bottle at the club.”
“Wow!” I gasped. “All that much to have with a takeaway!”
He dismissed this with a wave of the hand. “It didn’t cost me anything, I just helped meself ‘You mean you stole it?’
He managed to look both amused and indignant. “I’m past the stage of nicking things, thanks all the same.
Minerva’s belongs to me. I can take anything I like.”
I felt a chill run through my body. He was almost certainly a criminal—he might have been in prison for all I knew. If he owned Minerva’s, it meant he was involved in the drugs trade and other activities that didn’t bear thinking about. But the awful thing, the really appalling thing, was that he became even more desirable in my eyes. I was horrified. I’d never dreamed it was in me to be attracted to someone like Tom O’Mara. Perhaps it was something passed down in the blood: Flo had wasted her life on a scally who, according to Bel, wasn’t fit to lick her boots, Mum had fallen for my loathsome father. Now I found myself weak at the knees over possibly the most unsuitable man in the whole of Liverpool. I thought about James, who loved me and was worth ten Tom O’Maras, and for a moment wished it really had been him at the door.
I put my plate on the table and Tom said, “You haven’t eaten much.”
“I’ve eaten half,” I said defensively. “I haven’t a very big appetite.” He’d already finished, the plate scraped clean.
“I tell you what, let’s have some music” He went over to the record player and lifted the lid.
“Flo’s only got the one record.”
“She’s got a whole pile in the sideboard. Neil Diamond and Tony Bennett were her favourites. I got her this last year when she started humming it nonstop. She’d play it over and over.” The strains of “Dancing in the Dark” began to fill the room. “She said something once, she was half asleep, about dancing in the dark with someone in the Mystery years ago.”
“The Mystery?” I wondered if it had ever crossed his mind that the “someone” might well have been his grandad.
“Otherwise known as Wavertree playground. There’s a sports stadium there now.” He removed his jacket, saying, “It’s hot in here,” and I felt my insides quiver at the sight of his long, lean body, his slim waist.
“You were very fond of Flo?”
“I wasn’t just fond of her, I loved her,” he said simply. “I dunno why ‘cos she weren’t a relative, but she was more like a gran than me real one. Christ knows what I’d have done without Flo when me dad died.’
Surely he couldn’t be so bad if he’d thought so much of Flo. Bing Crosby was singing and I had no idea why I should have a feeling that history was repeating itself when Tom held out his hand and said with a grin, “Wanna dance, girl?”
I knew I should refuse. I knew I should just laugh and shrug and say, “No, thanks, I’m not in the mood,” because I also knew what would happen when he took me in his arms. And if it did, if it did, the day might come when I would regret it. The trouble was, I had never before wanted anything so much. My body was crying out for him to touch me.
The lamp continued its steady progress, round and round, casting its dark, blurred shadows on the low ceiling of the room, and I stared at the shifting patterns, looking for the girl in the red coat. Tom O’Mara came across the room, put his hands on my waist and lifted me out of the chair. For a moment I resisted, then threw all caution to the wind. I slid my arms around his neck and kissed him. I could feel him, like a rock, pressing against me. My veins seemed to melt when our exploring tongues met, while his hard, eager hands stroked my back, my waist, my hips, burning, as if his fingers were on fire.
Still kissing, swaying together almost imperceptibly to the music, we moved slowly towards the bedroom. Outside the door, in the little cold lobby, our lips parted, and Tom cupped my face in his hands. He stared deep into my eyes, and knew that he wanted me every bit as much as I wanted him. Then he opened the door, where the bed with its snowy white cover was waiting, and led me inside. By now, I felt weak with longing, yet once again I hesitated. There was still time to back out, to say no. But Tom O’Mara was kissing me again, touching me with those hot fingers, and I couldn’t have said no to save my life. He kicked the door shut behind us.
In the living room, “Dancing in the Dark” played through to a glorious crescendo. When it finished, I imagined, in a little corner of my mind, the needle raising itself automatically and the arm returning to nestle in the metal groove. There was silence in Flo Clancy’s flat, though I knew that the lamp continued to cast its restless shadows over the walls.
I was woken by Tom O’Mara stroking my hip. “You should have eaten the rest of that meal,” he whispered.
“You could do with a bit more flesh on you.”
Turning languorously into his arms, I began to touch him, but he caught my hand. “I’ve got to go.”
“Is there nothing I can do to keep you?” I said teasingly.
“Nothing.”
He got out of bed and began to get dressed. I could have kept James in bed if the building was on fire. I lay, admiring his willpower and his slim brown limbs. His skin was as slippery as polished marble, the hollow of his neck as smooth as an egg. There was a tattoo on his chest, a heart with an arrow through it, and a woman’s name I couldn’t make out. I’d always thought tattoos repulsive, though it was a bit late in the day to remember that.
“What’s the hurry?” I enquired.
“It’s nearly seven o’clock. Me wife doesn’t mind me staying out all night, but she likes me home for breakfast.”
“Mightn’t it have been a good idea to mention you had a wife last night?” I said mildly. I wasn’t the least bit shocked because I didn’t care. We had no future together.
He paused while pulling on his trousers. “Would it have stopped you?”
“No, but it might have stopped some women.”
“Then those sort of women should ask before leaping into bed with a bloke they hardly know.”
I made one of Bel’s faces. “You sound as if you disapprove of women who sleep with strange men.”
“It so happens that I do.”
“But you don’t disapprove of men who do the same?” I laughed, pretending outrage.
“Blokes take what’s on offer.” He was buttoning his shirt.
I eased myself to a sitting position. “Do you know?” I said thoughtfully, “I truly can’t remember offering myself last night.”
“You didn’t, but it’s different with me and you, isn’t it?”
“Is it?”
He sat on the bed. “You know it is.” He held my face in both hands and kissed me soundly on the lips. I put my arms around his neck and kissed him back, greedy for him, and determined to keep him if I could, even if it meant I’d be late for work.
“I said I’ve got to go.” His voice was steely. He removed my arms none too gently
and went over to the door.
“Oh, well,” I sighed exaggeratedly, “see you around sometime, Mr O’Mara.” I was still teasing, though my heart was in my mouth, dreading he might take me at my word and say, “See you too, Millie.”
“What the hell do you mean by that?” I was taken aback by the anger in his green eyes. The muscles were taut in his slender neck. “Is that all it was to you, a night’s shag?”
“You know it wasn’t.” I blushed, remembering the night, so different from any I’d ever known. I looked at him directly. “It was magic”
I could have sworn he breathed a sigh of relief. “In that case, I’ll be round tonight, about twelve.” He left abruptly. A few seconds later, the front door opened and he shouted, “It was magic for me, too.”
I got out of bed, removed the crucifix, the statues, and holy pictures off the wall, and put them in the drawer of Flo’s bedside cabinet.
“You’ve been raiding your aunt’s wardrobe again,”
George said, when I arrived at Stock Masterton. “I can tell.” “
“Is it so obvious?” I stared down at the long, straight black skirt and demure white blouse with a pointed collar.
“Only because you don’t usually wear those sort of clothes. You look very appealing. I could eat you for lunch.”
I tried to think of a put-down remark in reply, but couldn’t.
George went on, “That young man of yours must have had the same idea. You’ve got a love bite on your neck.”
He sighed dolefully. “It’s called a hicky in America. I can’t remember when I last gave a girl one. I must have been in my teens. Those were the days, eh?” He hooted.
Embarrassed, I went over to my desk and switched on the computer. Diana had just arrived. “How’s your father?” I asked.
“He seemed much better over the weekend,” Diana replied. Her face had lost the tense lines of the previous week. “In fact, we had a lovely time. He told me all about his experiences during the war. I knew he’d been in Egypt in military intelligence, but I never realised he’d been in so many dangerous scrapes. He was very much a James Bond in his day.” She took an envelope from her bag. “I managed to finish those notes I mentioned. Did George tell you his offer for the shop in Woolton has been accepted? We could be open by the new year.”
My own report was at home but didn’t seem all that important any more. Nevertheless, I had to go back to the flat to collect a few things if I was going to stay at Flo’s so I’d pick it up then.
“I’ll give this to George.” Diana winked conspiratorially and hurried into his office. She seemed rather pathetic, I thought, yet until recently I’d wanted the job in Woolton just as much, which meant I’d been just as pathetic myself Now, I didn’t care.
The realisation surprised me. I stared at my blurred reflection in the computer screen and wondered what had changed. Me, I decided, though I had no idea why. I felt confused but, then, I’d felt confused throughout my life. Perhaps it was Flo who’d made me see things differently. Perhaps. I wish I’d known her, I thought wistfully, remembering the warm, comfortable sensation I’d had in the flat last night, as if she had been there with me. I had a feeling I could have talked to her about stuff I wouldn’t dream of telling anyone else.
And there was Tom O’Mara. I cupped my chin in my hands and my reflection did the same. I’d been a married woman for four years, and there’d been other men before James, yet it was as if I’d made love for the very first time.
My body had never felt so alive, so used in the most gratifying way. I held my breath and felt my scalp prickle when I thought about the things that Tom O’Mara and I had done to each other.
“Millie! Millie!”
Darren thumped my desk, and I became aware that June was shouting, “Wake up, sleepyhead. There’s a call for you.”
It was the Naughtons again. They’d had details of another house, which sounded ideal, this time in Crosby. I arranged to meet them there at noon, though felt sure it would be another waste of time. Crosby was close to Blundellsands, which meant I could call at home afterwards.
It felt strange going into my flat, as if I’d been away for weeks not merely twenty-four hours. It smelt dusty and unused, long empty. I opened the windows of the balcony to air the place, and had a shower. There was a bruise beneath my breast and another on my thigh and I wondered if Tom O’Mara also bore scars of our night together. I covered the bite on my neck with makeup.
The red light was flickering on the answering-machine.
My mother’s tearful voice announced that Declan had lost his job. “He was sacked ages ago. Your dad only found out by accident off some chap in the pub. Of course he’s livid, called poor Declan all the names under the sun. And, Millicent, I’d like to talk to you about Alison . . . Oh, I’ll have to ring oft now, luv. Your dad’s on his way in.”
I “waited. There was no message from James. I was glad, but thought about calling him at work to make sure he was all right. In the end, I decided not to. It might encourage him to think I cared, which I did but not nearly enough to satisfy him. I reversed the tape, packed a few clothes and toiletries in a bag, along with the folder containing the report. As I’d gone to the trouble of writing it, it wouldn’t hurt to let George take a look.
He was working alone in his glass cubicle when I got back, so I took the folder in. “You’ll never guess what that bloody woman’s gone and done,” he barked immediately he saw me.
I pretended to back away, frightened. “What woman?”
I couldn’t recall seeing George so angry before.
“That Diana bitch. She’s only given me a list of reasons why I should open the new office! I couldn’t believe my eyes when I read it. Does she seriously imagine I haven’t thought the whole thing through myself? Jesus Christ, Millie, I’ve been in the estate-agency business for over thirty years. I know it back to front, yet an idiot woman with a stupid degree thinks she knows better than I do.”
“She was only being helpful, George.”
“More likely after the boss’s job,” he sneered. “As if I’d give it her, the pushy little cow. The job’s Oliver’s. He never makes a decision without referring to me first, which is the way I like it.” He grinned. “I guess I must be a control freak.”
“Did you say anything to Diana?”
“I bawled her out and she left for lunch in tears.”
“Oh, George!” I shook my head. “You’ll feel sorry about that tomorrow.” A few weeks ago I would have been as pleased as punch at Diana’s fall from grace, but now, for some strange reason, I felt nothing but pity for the woman.
“I know.” He sighed. “I’m a disagreeable sod. I’ll apologise later, though it was still a stupid, tactless thing for her to do.” He nodded at the folder in my hand. “Is that for me?”
“No. I just came to tell you about the Naughtons.
Apparently, the draining board was on the wrong side.”
Later that afternoon, I fed my report into the shredder.
I’d never stood the remotest chance of getting the manager’s job, and it made me feel acutely embarrassed to have thought that I had.
Tom O’Mara didn’t arrive at midnight as he’d promised.
An hour later he still wasn’t there. I lay on the settee, half watching an old film, not sure what to think. Had I been stood up? Maybe he’d had second thoughts. Maybe he’d meant tomorrow night. I tried to work out how I’d feel if I never saw him again. Hurt, I decided, hurt, insulted and angry, but definitely not heartbroken, possibly a little bit relieved. However, right now relief wasn’t uppermost in my mind. I wasn’t in love with Tom and never would be, yet my body ached for him and I could have sworn he felt the same. It was easy to while away the time imagining his lips touching every part of me. My pulse began to race, and I felt hot at the thought. “Please come, Tom,” I prayed. “Please!”
At some time during the night I fell asleep, and was woken when it was barely daylight by a kiss and the touc
h of a hand stroking me beneath my dressing-gown.
“How did you get in?” I whispered.
“Took me key back off the mantelpiece, didn’t I?”
“You’re late,” I yawned. “Hours late.” It was delicious just lying there, feeling sleepy, yet conscious of his exploring hands.
“There was trouble at the club, and I couldn’t ring. Flo always flatly refused to have a phone. How do I undo this knot?”
“I’ll do it.” I unfastened the belt and he pulled the robe away.
“Anyroad, I’m here now,” he said, “and that’s all that matters.”
He was kneeling beside me, his face hard with desire.
He would never say soft, tender things as James did, yet this only made me want him more. I held out my arms.
“Yes, Tom, that’s all that matters.”
Time seemed to stand still; it had lost its meaning, all because of Tom O’Mara. I returned to my flat on Sunday morning to collect more clothes and take a shower—bathing at Flo’s was like bathing in the Arctic—and found an increasingly frantic series of messages from my mother on the answering-machine. It was the last Sunday in October and it had completely slipped my mind.
“Don’t forget, luv, we’re expecting you for dinner on Sunday.”
“Why don’t you ever ring back, Millicent? I hate these damn machines. It’s like talking to the wall.”
“Have you gone away, Millicent?” the voice wailed fretfully. “You might have told me. I’d ring your office if I didn’t think it would get you into trouble.”
As usual, I felt a mixture of guilt and annoyance. I phoned home immediately. “I’m sorry, Mum,” I said penitently. “You were right, I’ve been away.” I hated lying to my mother, but how could I possibly tell her the truth? “I know I should have called, but it was a spur-of-the-moment thing, and I was so busy when I got there, I forgot about everything. I’m sorry,” I said again, assuming this would be enough to satisfy her, but apparently not.
“When you got where?” she demanded.
I said the first place I could think of. “Birmingham.”
“What on earth were you doing there?”