How to Make Time for Me

by Fiona Perrin

  ‘That’s sweet of you,’ I said.

  He paused. ‘I don’t want to say anything that’s going to make you uncomfortable…’ He edged a little closer. ‘I mean, I respect exactly how you feel, and you would tell me if…’ And he came closer still.

  He wanted to kiss me. It hit me hard with a jolt of ridiculous fabulousness. For a moment I worried about my not-very-fit stomach but figured I’d try and lie down where everything looked so much better than when I was standing up.

  It took me a while to splutter, ‘No, I mean yes, I mean…’ and he looked questioningly at me, so there was nothing really else to do except lean towards him.

  My expectation, as a person who hadn’t kissed anyone for a very long time indeed, was that it would be both discombobulating and very, very exciting. My first feeling unfortunately was: ewww wet. It was unexpected. I adjusted my head and decided I was just out of practice.

  He became passionate quickly, sliding his arms round me, and pulling me closer to him, kissing me harder and more breathlessly. I tried to join in enthusiastically.

  ‘Shit, I fancied you the moment I saw you,’ Sunil gasped, and I found his hands on the front of my new camisole top, roaming over my chest, my breasts responding as if they’d never been touched before. In fairness, they hadn’t for a while.

  ‘Of course, I wanted to help you too…’ he went on in a voice that told me that I shouldn’t doubt his motives. God, did he have to be quite so noble all the time? At that point I couldn’t give a shit about his motives. I’d fancied his very bones from the moment I first saw him and couldn’t quite believe he fancied me – me – back. And I’d get used to all this physical stuff quite quickly and it would be mind-blowing.

  That was when he said into my hair, ‘Would you be comfortable going upstairs?’

  I wondered if he always seduced people with this much sensitivity, but realised that, what with being really woke and at the frontline of youth gender politics, he probably had to get a triple-opt-in for sex from anyone. It was terribly polite though, compared to my previous experience.

  It did also seem a bit rushed – from a kiss and a bit of a fumble straight to going to bed – but the whole thing felt very new, a bit like the first time but for the second time. I was very old-fashioned and this was how people did it now.

  ‘I’d love to,’ I said, standing up and holding out my hand. He came towards me and kissed me for a long time again, before I ran up the stairs, two at a time, with him behind me. As we fell onto my bed, he was kissing me again, his body moving against mine; I writhed back and felt him quickly lifting the camisole over my head and unzipping his jeans and mine. Extended foreplay was obviously for a previous generation, although he couldn’t be more than eight or ten years younger than me. It would just take some getting used to – having sex again after so long.

  Eventually, we were both naked, apart from one sock that was stuck to my left foot. I had a moment to congratulate myself, as he pulled off his jeans and looked down at me appreciatively, that all that pain in the beauty clinic had been so worth it. Still, I instinctively pulled the duvet towards me as I whipped off my remaining sock and waited with my head on my pillow. I wasn’t sure he needed to have such a panoramic view of my unloved body.

  He seemed to like what he had seen though, coming down to lie next to me and then newly exploring every single bit of me. I tried hard to relax, thinking that he would definitely have a condom.

  All the rest of the world was shut out.

  But that was when the door opened, and the world rushed back in, very fast and furious indeed.

  21

  ‘I forgot my mouth guard, Cal.’ That’s what I heard, in the sweet, innocent voice.

  Then I saw Wilf’s face and it was white. Aghast. Stricken. He stood as if anchored to the carpet in the doorway, his hand still on the knob, his body still coming halfway round the door. His eyes were wide with what seemed to be a slow dawning realisation of what he was seeing.

  All I knew was horror.

  Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no.

  Sunil didn’t seem to understand what was happening. His back was to the door, he was half on top of me and half beside me, quietly moaning with pleasure, his hands still roaming across my lower half.

  Then, I screamed. It was potent: a chilling mix of panic and pressure topped by overwhelming guilt.

  First there was the shock, the incredible shock of realising that Wilf, vulnerable Wilf, had caught me in bed with a relatively strange man, then I was pushing Sunil off me. He turned to see where my frightened eyes were looking and then shouted himself, ‘Oh my God,’ and pulled the duvet over his bare arse.

  ‘Wilf, Wilf,’ I cried as he turned, another long second later; my eyes met his and I saw only betrayal. I pushed Sunil further away as Wilf turned and ran, his big feet clomping down the stairs. How had I not heard him come up them?

  ‘Oh, shit.’ I grabbed my dressing gown, pulled it round me and gave chase.

  But as I leapt down the stairs, all I could see was that the front door was wide open and there was the sight of his bike, being pedalled away from me into the night.

  22

  ‘I thought they were away for the night,’ I told Sunil, my dressing gown wrapped round me tightly. I sat at the head of my bed, watching him hurriedly pull on his boxers, jeans and shirt. All the sexual chemistry had evaporated like a fast-burning compound over a Bunsen burner. In its place was his face – a picture of guilt and horror — his body, rushing to get out of my bedroom as quickly as possible, and me: a vassal of shame.

  How could I have been so selfish and stupid? When Wilf needed me most, he’d had to see me, naked and ridiculous, focused not on him, but entirely on someone else. The betrayal was evident. All he needed right now was to know that I loved him with all of my being – and instead, he had to have this permanent picture in his mind of me. It was hard to imagine how alone he must be feeling.

  The shame! I’d all this worry about the children in my life and all I’d been doing was thinking about my own wants and desires.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Cal, this is all my fault,’ Sunil said, taking the blame.

  This made me impatient. ‘Of course, it isn’t,’ I almost snapped, then I said: ‘He said he was staying round at his dad’s. But he forgot his mouth guard. He’d need it for football in the morning.’ It sounded so normal and domestic in the face of what had nearly just happened.

  And I remembered what I’d said earlier: ‘If you want to come home you know where we are.’

  The point was, it didn’t matter what had made him want to come home – he had, and when he’d got here, he’d found me in a position I’d hoped he’d never have to see. The guilt doused me from all angles as if I were in a petrol-station car wash.

  Sunil nodded grimly. ‘I knew your life was complicated; I should have stayed away.’

  I knew rationally that we were two grown adults that had every right to have met each other and then jumped into bed together. It was modern and right and spontaneous. It was acting on our desires. But it wasn’t that simple when there were teenagers involved.

  ‘It’s not that complicated,’ I said. ‘Well, not normally, it’s just now and…’

  ‘I should have known that and respected it,’ Sunil went on as if he was telling himself off.

  ‘It’s my fault,’ I said. I should have all the kids here with me instead of being in bed with you. My daughters were in other places in the middle of their GCSEs; Wilf would undoubtedly be thinking that right when he needed me, my focus was on a man instead. And one whom he’d made no secret of disliking.

  Sunil gave me a brief kiss on my cheek. ‘I’d better go before he comes back,’ he said.

  Good. What was important now was explaining to Wilf that I still loved him and hadn’t forgotten him before he’d even gone. I followed Sunil down the stairs and he went out of the front door. I looked anxiously around for the sight of a bike light coming down the near-dark street, but there was no
thing.

  ‘Goodbye and I’m sorry,’ Sunil said. ‘I’ll… I mean, I’ll check in with you and…’

  I let him kiss me again briefly but didn’t watch him go down the path.

  Instead I went back inside to phone Wilf and beg him to come back and talk to me.

  *

  I rang Wilf’s phone repeatedly. He rarely answered it anyway, but now he was angry and upset, so I didn’t panic, although I hoped that as soon as we could communicate he’d understand that me having a shack-up with a man didn’t mean I wasn’t there for him. I had to explain to him that he didn’t need to resent me because he was having to leave us; he could go and I would still love him and he could still love me. I would just force him to sit and listen.

  When the phone rang and rang with no opportunity to leave a voicemail, I gave up and rang my parents. It seemed most likely that he’d have gone to them. God knew what he’d told them: ‘Cal’s having a shag, so I thought I ought to come and see you.’

  I FaceTimed them, knowing that I’d set the volume to very loud on Mum’s iPad when she wasn’t looking. There was a moment before she appeared, a blur of mad white hair on a stripy pillow case. She didn’t have her hearing aid on as she immediately shouted, ‘Calypso? Lorca, it’s Calypso.’

  There was a noise of Dad sitting up and shouting, ‘Where? Where is she?’

  ‘On the FaceTime; she’s on the FaceTime,’ shouted Mum.

  ‘Is Wilf with you?’

  ‘No need to shout all the time,’ said Dad. ‘It’s all very well for your mother but it’s going to make me go deaf too at this rate.’ He grabbed the iPad and peered into it. ‘Very good picture quality, very good indeed.’

  I sighed and repeated more quietly, ‘Is Wilf with you, Dad?’

  ‘He was, wasn’t he?’ Dad looked flustered, as if he was trying to remember what had happened that evening before he went to bed. ‘He was here, wasn’t he, Lois?’

  ‘You’ve not got IT yet, you old fool,’ Mum shouted. ‘Your father’s constantly questioning his memory, as if he wants to have dementia.’

  ‘I don’t want it, I just want to test I haven’t got it,’ Dad muttered.

  ‘Never mind that. Is Wilf with you now or not?’

  ‘He went, didn’t he?’ Dad asked Mum. ‘He was here earlier but then he said he was going to see his dad.’

  ‘But has he come back again after that?’

  ‘Did you hear him come back?’ Dad asked Mum, then muttered, ‘Stupid question.’

  ‘What I don’t understand is why he would come back here,’ Mum said.

  ‘We had a…’ I struggled hard. How did you tell your folks you’d been caught in flagrante? I decided not to give them a reason to worry.

  He must have gone back to Ralph’s, which felt like a new level of parenting failure. What if he was there now, telling Petra what he’d seen? I put my head in my hands as I imagined her face lit from ear to ear with sanctimony.

  I let out a low moan and rang Wilf’s mobile again. This time it was switched off, but voicemail kicked in, so I left a message: ‘Wilf, please, I’m so sorry about what happened, but you need to call me as soon as possible, please, and let me know you are OK, please, Wilf.’

  How long did I leave it before I contacted Ralph? I paced round the kitchen. Then, through the door of the sitting room I could see the empty bottles of San Miguel on the coffee table and I grabbed them and shoved them right to the bottom of the recycling bin as if they were proof of my dissolute lifestyle.

  Perhaps I’d wake up in a minute and this would all be some terrible dream? I’d dreamt about sex because I hadn’t had any for so long. And I’d dreamt about Wilf leaving because I was so worried about him actually leaving and I would wake up in a minute and shake my head and get up and…

  I looked at my phone, which now said 10.58. I was definitely awake, and this was no troubled dream – it was a very real nightmare.

  Still I put off calling Ralph. I’d text Wilf’s friends instead – Jowan and Miguel.

  Hey boys, if Wilf is with you? Get him to message me if so?

  I was trying to be casual, not sound like I was panicking, but I could feel the bile rising at the back of my throat.

  I flicked the switch on the kettle, aiming for a cup of calming camomile, then went and peered out of the back door, more in hope of hearing a bike being locked up on the path than seeing anything. Aside from the gentle sound of traffic coming from the main road to the station, there was nothing. I went to the front door and yanked that open again and did the same thing. Our street was empty. Just for a moment, I thought about waking up Patrick and asking him to come and help me, but I knew I was overreacting.

  Back at the kitchen table, I decided that Marvin might be the most sympathetic. I FaceTimed him just as a text arrived back from Jowan.

  No not here.

  They were fabulously expressive, teenagers – told you loads with so much additional information. Miguel would probably be asleep. I wondered what either of their parents would say if Wilf turned up – they’d put it down to adolescent behaviour, the fact that all kids had rows with their folks as they grew up. But I knew they would insist that Wilf contacted me as soon as possible.

  The screen eventually lit up with Marv’s face. He was in bed and in one corner of the screen, from another pillow, I could see a long strand of blonde hair. Not alone, then, but also either pre- or post-shag as he’d made time to answer the phone. He looked ruffled and happy. Post-shag, then.

  I didn’t bother to enquire, just started, ‘Oh, Marv, Wilf’s gone.’

  ‘What do you mean, “gone”?’

  ‘He caught me in…’ I realised I was about to update the other occupant of Marv’s bed – almost certainly a total stranger – on my eventful evening. ‘Wait, I don’t want to be rude but the person you’re with…’

  ‘It’s just Debbie.’ Marv smiled affectionately in the direction of the other pillow and swirled the camera so that it showed a glorious tousled blonde, rolling what looked like a joint; she put down the large paper in her hand and gave a lazy wave. ‘What do you mean, gone?’

  ‘He left about thirty minutes ago and he’s not at my parents’ – there was a scene.’

  ‘Does Wilf do scenes?’

  ‘No, he just ran out of the door. He caught me with—’

  ‘With who? With what?’

  ‘Let me speak,’ I snapped. ‘He caught me in bed with Sunil.’

  ‘Oh, my God, you went to bed with him?’ Marv looked highly amused. ‘Oh, my God, Cal,’ and carried on chuckling. There seemed to be a splutter from Debbie on the other pillow too.

  ‘That’s not the point,’ I went on, trying to get him to understand the bigger issue. ‘Wilf came in, unexpectedly, right in the middle.’ I gave Marv a quick precis of what had happened. ‘And I’m terrified I’ve sent him straight to Ralph and Petra and…’

  Marv’s face grew grave as I talked through the consequences of my shag. ‘It sounds likely he went back there. It’s going to be a real shock to him, as he would never have thought that you’d be at home getting laid and—’

  ‘I’ll call Ralph,’ I said.

  ‘Let me know when he’s back,’ Marv said, and his face disappeared from the screen.

  *

  I put aside my pride and called Ralph.

  You weren’t doing anything wrong. Wilf was supposed to be out. I told myself this as I hoped, despite all the embarrassment, that Ralph would tell me he was safely tucked up in a beige bedroom at his and Petra’s executive home. It took a while for him to pick up.

  I wasted no time: ‘Wilf is with you, isn’t he?’

  Ralph yawned and said sleepily, ‘What do you mean? He was earlier, but he said he forgot his mouth guard for football or something, so he went back.’

  ‘Oh, God.’ My voice slumped. What if he’d been kidnapped? Or had an accident on his bike? Or…

  ‘Callie, what’s going on?’ Ralph sounded frightened.

  I tol
d him that Wilf had run off. ‘He’d have come back here,’ Ralph said. ‘Where do you think he might be?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I groaned, tears springing from my eyes, like warm water from geysers. ‘I mean, he’s bound to turn up in a minute or…’

  Ralph sounded as if he was getting out of bed. ‘I’ll go downstairs and see if I can see him in the street.’

  He put his hand over the microphone as the sound became muffled and busy, then there was a brief terse exchange with Petra, ending in, ‘Go back to sleep, babe,’ then I could hear him going down the stairs. There was a click on a couple of light switches. I wiped my face on my pyjama sleeve.

  ‘What happened anyway?’ Ralph asked.

  I took a deep breath. Why did I feel embarrassed explaining to Ralph that I’d been to bed with someone else? It was a very long time since we’d been in bed together – and he was married again. I could go to bed with whoever I liked. ‘… a bloke round and Wilf came barging into my bedroom and caught me, us…’

  ‘Oh, that can’t have been good for him.’ Ralph whistled.

  I shook with outrage. ‘And telling him he’s moving from everything he’s known in his life to an entirely different country away from his family is?’

  ‘I just mean it’s a shock, you know.’ Everyone seemed to think that me going to bed with someone was highly unexpected. Even Ralph, who I used to have quite good sex with back in the day, now thought it was unlikely that I would ever be having sex with anyone else. ‘We need to think about where he might be, not argue,’ Ralph said down the phone.

  We went through a roster of kids’ clubs or activities that Wilf had belonged to or currently belonged to. We had a few parents’ numbers but decided it was over the top to call them when it wasn’t even midnight.

  ‘Can’t you go out in a car and look for him?’

  ‘Drive to the school, round the market, that kind of thing?’