I kissed her - and she responded. It was the tenderest kiss we’d ever exchanged.
Then she looked into my eyes again and said softly, “I want you, Tom.”
“And I want you,” I said.
The talking was going to have to wait.
I took her hand and led her through to the bedroom. I sat her down gently on the bed. She lay back on the pillows. We looked at each other for a long moment. I sat down on the edge of the bed, beside where she lay and I stroked her face.
I leant over her and we kissed again, more urgently this time. She unbuttoned my shirt and I took it off. Rosie watched me intently as I undressed. I lay back down on the bed and kissed her again. I ran my fingers down her neck. I unfastened her jacket and caressed her right breast. She caught my hand.
“Wait,” she said. “Please, wait.” She sat up. “I need to show you first. It’s – I don’t want you to be - it’s…”
“Show me, Rosie,” I said quietly, sitting up as she got off the bed. She slipped off her jacket and stepped out of her skirt. She stood there in her white, lacy underwear and stockings - incredibly sexy. I stared into her face and she held my gaze.
“You look amazing,” I said.
She gave a small smile and glanced away momentarily. Then she undid her bra and removed it. “There,” she said, resuming her stare, ready to gauge my reaction.
I lowered my gaze. There was a scar across her left chest. Her breast was gone. I felt such anguish for her, for what this loss must mean to her.
“Oh, my darling,” I whispered.
Her hand went to the scar.
“Come here,” I whispered, holding out my arms towards her. She came back to the bed and lay down beside me.
I lifted her hand away from the scar and traced along it with my finger.
She gave a little shudder.
I ran my lips along it and tasted my tears on her skin. “Your poor breast.”
“I know,” she said quietly. It was Rosie’s turn to brush my tears away. “Tom?”
“Yes?”
“Would you make love to me, please?”
And so I made love to my darling Rosie. It was sublime to be able to touch her and to feel her hands on me. It was soft and incredibly tender. I wanted to linger over every look, every sensation, every touch. Rosie’s eyes scarcely left mine. I don’t think we’d ever been so – together. Then a little later, when Rosie kissed me and said ‘more please’, it became more urgent and utterly exhilarating.
Afterwards we lay exhausted, facing each other, looking, not speaking.
I traced the contours of her face and stroked her hair and then I just held her.
In the end it was Rosie who broke the silence.
“I’m starving,” she said. “When’s dinner?”
I laughed. “Oh, right, dinner.” I propped myself up on one elbow and glanced at the bedside clock. “The casserole’s on at a low heat – it’ll be fine for about another hour. So - why don’t we have a soak in that lovely big bath before we eat?”
“Mmm, that sounds nice.” She stretched and arched her back. It was an almost irresistible pose.
“Stop that,” I said. “Or I’ll never get out of this bed. Cover yourself up, woman.”
She giggled. It was a wonderful, wonderful sound. I tore myself away and went to the wardrobe. I brought out two white towelling robes and put one on.
“Here,” I said, holding the other one out for Rosie. “Make yourself decent.”
Rosie laughed again. “If you insist,” she said, getting out of bed and letting me slip the robe round her shoulders. “Mmm, that feels nice,” she said, tying the belt.
She returned to the bed and, sitting back against the pillows, she watched as I unpacked. “You came prepared,” she said, smiling.
“So did you.” I reached into the wardrobe. I took out the bag Michael had packed, as well as the one she’d taken to the hotel. “Your luggage, ma’am. The cottage is ours for a week – if you want it - and you should have everything you need here.”
“What – how did you-?”
I explained more of the subterfuge and planning and that I’d paid a week’s rental.
“My God!” she exclaimed. “You were determined, weren’t you?”
“You don’t know the half of it. Now, I’ll get the bath started.”
I left the bath to fill and went to the kitchen to get the champagne. Rosie was still lying, propped against the pillows when I returned.
“Drink?” I said, laying the glasses on the dressing table and starting to undo the cork.
Rosie sat up and beamed at me. “Oh, Tom, pink champagne - my favourite! What a lovely idea! Yes please.”
The cork came out with a satisfying pop and I poured us both a glass. I handed one to Rosie. “To – the future?” I said, raising my glass.
Rosie smiled again and touched her glass to mine. “Yes, to the future.”
Rosie
Chapter Forty Five
I experienced several emotions immediately after Tom’s appearance in the cottage. There was the surprise of seeing him, and the shock as he revealed the plot to get me there. Then, of course, there was the mixture of shame and relief when I realised how wrong I’d been about Tom and Sheena. But my over-riding emotion was one of longing. It was a longing for him, to be held and be touched by him.
To find myself in bed with him was way more than I’d dared hope for. I’d been nervous – shy of showing him the effect of the mastectomy. But Tom’s empathy and sympathy, when he saw my scar, was not only all the reassurance I needed, but it lessened my sense of loss.
And the lovemaking – oh, it was amazing.
The first time, it was tentative and tender. Our awareness of each other seemed incredibly heightened. We were careful, still vulnerable, searching for and finding deep reassurance and comfort. We were questioning and rediscovering.
The second time it was much more greedy and raw. There was a passionate assertiveness about it, an urgent reclaiming after the months of fear and mistrust.
But, as we lay back in the gorgeously scented bath, sipping champagne by the light of the scented candles, I wondered if the sex had been an ending or a beginning. On its own, wonderful though it had been, it wasn’t enough to put everything right. Tom still cared about me, that was obvious, but how did he see our future? He’d changed over the last few months and so had I. I knew what I wanted; I wanted to be with Tom. But I realised, that if we were to be together, it would have to be in a new way.
Tom got out of the bath first and went to get dressed and see to our meal. I remained and luxuriated for a little while longer.
But when he shouted that the food would be ready in five minutes, I dragged myself out. I put on a pair of jeans and Tom’s old, blue denim shirt. I’d deliberately not returned it. I’d found it comforting to wear.
When I went back to the living room, the table was set - white cloth, candles and an open bottle of red wine. I stood at the fire. I could hear Tom at work in the kitchen. I tried to remain relaxed, enjoy the moment.
“Top up, madam?” Tom was in the doorway, champagne bottle in hand. He smiled and nodded at his denim shirt, as he refilled my glass. “So, you’ve still got it.”
“Yes.” I touched the collar. “I wasn’t sure you’d want it back after what happened to it and I – well – it was a link to you. I sort of - enjoyed wearing it.” I now felt a bit shy with him, uncertain of my ground.
“Oh, right – that’s nice.” He raised his glass. “To - us?”
I heard the question in his voice. I could only nod as I raised my glass in response. Tom put his hand in the pocket of his jeans and produced my wedding ring. He held it out to me. He ran his hand through his hair and cleared his throat. I could see he was as awkward and unsure as I was. “Will you – that is, do you - want this back?”
“Of course I do.” I held out my hand and he replaced the ring on my finger. It was still slightly loose.
“You need f
attening up, my girl.” Tom raised my hand to his lips. “So drink up your champagne and come and sit at the table. I’ll bring the food through. We’ll eat first, talk later.”
The dinner was delicious. The first course was a smoked salmon pâté with green salad and warm toast. Tom laid mine before me with a flourish, telling me proudly that he’d made the pâté himself and had even baked the bread. “I’ve got a bread making machine – Andy suggested I get one - and the pâté is a recipe of Sheena’s. I made it all at home before I came up.”
Mention of Sheena made me feel so embarrassed. I knew I’d have to confess what I’d suspected regarding Tom and her, but this wasn’t the time. Luckily Tom didn’t seem to notice my discomfort on that score. He was too busy watching and waiting while I took my first mouthfuls of the starter. The pâté was delicately flavoured - beautifully soft and luscious on my tongue - and the bread gorgeously fragrant and yeasty.
“Mm,” I said, between mouthfuls. “That is so good.”
“I’m glad you like it,” said Tom, in a decidedly seductive tone.
“Oh, I do.” I smiled at him.
The main course was beef cooked in beer. It certainly lived up to the promise offered by the aroma of its cooking. The beef was meltingly tender, the sauce rich, dark and velvety. The fluffy potatoes and crisp, lightly cooked, sugar snaps and carrots complemented the meat perfectly, as did the intense red wine Tom had chosen to accompany it. Once again, Tom watched me closely as I ate, and once again I made approving noises as I savoured each mouthful.
“I’m amazed! That was absolutely gorgeous,” I said, as I finished eating.
Tom’s smile told me how delighted he was that I’d enjoyed it. “Do you want some more?”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t take any more! I’m completely – satisfied.” I took a sip of wine.
“Not completely satisfied, I hope.” Tom resumed the seductive tone. “I’m not finished yet. There’s still dessert to come.”
I spluttered on the wine. “Are we still talking about the meal?”
“Of course, what else?” Tom smiled and raised his eyebrows.
Dessert was a fluffily light, but gorgeously chocolatey, pudding with a melted fudgy sauce at its core and there was cream to pour over it. It was scrumptiously, spoon-lickingly, delectable. When I’d finished I leaned back in my chair and stretched.
“Well?” asked Tom.
I licked my lips. “Orgasmic.” The combination of physical intimacy, alcohol and excellent food was a potent mix. It was wonderful to be this relaxed with each other. But, I think we both sensed it was temporary. We still had a lot of serious talking to do.
While Tom put more logs on the fire, I made us some coffee. We drank it sitting side by side on the sofa.
Tom beamed with pride when I pronounced the meal to be the best I’d ever had. “I know you’ve been making dinners for the kids, but I’d no idea you had this sort of talent.”
“I had good teachers. Andy and Sheena were great and I love cooking – it’s a wonderful way of unwinding. I’m just sorry I didn’t learn sooner.” He paused and took hold of my hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t learn a lot of things sooner. These last few months - I’ve realised what I’ve been missing.”
“Like what?”
“Well, for one thing, I’ve got to know the children properly. They’re great kids, Rosie.”
“Yes, they are.” I nodded.
“I still love my work, but I’ve found I love being at home too. The job share with Anna is working out really well and I’m going to take a sabbatical.”
“You have changed!”
“Yes, I have. I want to be more involved, be there for the children - if it’s not too late that is. I…” His voice caught. He looked away. His earlier ease was gone.
I put my hand to his face and turned him back to look at me. “Of course, it’s not too late. You’re a good father. Sam adores you. They all love you, Tom.”
He took my hand. “And you, Rosie, do you love me?” His earlier look of uncertainty and apprehension had returned.
“Yes, Tom, I love you very much.”
He clasped my hand more tightly and moved in closer. “And I love you - more than anything, more than ever. I never meant to hurt you. Please believe me, Rosie.”
“I do – I do believe you. But-”
“But, what?”
“But things weren’t right between us long before I knew about Robbie, or the cancer. I’d got lost – we’d got lost. There was no – no joy any more. It had all become a bit of a treadmill. I feared that once the kids were grown up and gone, we’d have nothing to keep us together.”
Tom nodded and pulled me close. He placed his hand on the back of my neck and looked into my eyes. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been such a selfish bastard. I know things need to change – they will, they have.”
I shook my head and moved away a little. “It’s not all down to you, Tom. I shut you out. I was so wrapped up in the children and the domestic stuff, taking everything on myself. I could have told you how I felt, could have asked you to do more. I could even have left some of it undone.”
“Yes, but-”
“No, Tom, I mean it. It’s not only you to blame. I was a martyr – you said so, so did Sam.” Tom looked as if he was going to protest. I put my hand up to stop him. “It’s okay. You were both right. I must have been such a bore. Keeping busy –it was a way of coping –a way of making amends –to Mum, to Heather. It also gave me control. Even when I looked after Dad, it was a way of taking charge and of lessening the guilt.”
Tom put his hands on my shoulders. “You’re being too hard on yourself. Maybe - at some level - that’s what you were doing. But you’ve been a loving, caring wife and mother in spite of your grief, not because of it. Your Mum died. Your sister died. There was nothing you could do.”
“I could have made sure Mum got her treatment on time. I could have been there for Heather.”
“No, Rosie, your mum was in charge of her illness. She made her own decisions – just like you have. I agree she was wrong to delay her treatment, in order to try to help Heather, but it was her decision and she had the right to make it. And Heather – well she - she made her own decisions too.”
“Yes, bad ones.” I got up, walked over to the fire, stood looking into it.
“Not all bad, Rosie, not all her decisions were bad.” He spoke softly.
I turned to face him. “So, tell me, Tom. Tell me what happened to Heather – at the end. How exactly were you involved?” I sat down in the armchair by the fire.
And, at last, Tom told me it all. He told me how he’d kept an eye on Heather after she and I became estranged. He confirmed what Rick had already told me about her being off drugs by 1988. He told me about the church charity that supported her, about her little flat and about how pleased she was to be pregnant.
“I asked her who the father was, but she wouldn’t say. All she’d say was, he was someone she was fond of, but he didn’t need to know about the baby as he wasn’t in a position to be its parent. It certainly didn’t occur to me that it could be Rick.” He paused for a moment. “And please believe me, Rosie, there was no possibility that I could be the baby’s father – no possibility at all.”
“I do believe you. I got that wrong. I’m so sorry I mistrusted you.” I got up and went back to sit on the sofa. He put his arm round me as I nestled in at his side. I looked up into his face. “The crazy thing is that, in the end, I didn’t actually care even if you were Robbie’s father.” Tom raised his eyebrows. “I mean – yes, I’d have been gutted - but I would still have wanted us to work - now - and in the future. But I really am sorry, Tom, for doubting you.”
He stroked my face and said, “I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt, but I don’t blame you. It’s no wonder you had your suspicions.” Then he kissed me.
A little while later I said, “It was a wonderful thing to do – to try and keep in touch with Heather when the rest of us couldn’t. But
from what you’ve said, it sounded like she’d sorted herself out – that, for a time at least, she was optimistic about the future.”
“Yes, she was optimistic. She’d started painting again. She’d really got herself together. I couldn’t believe it at first, but the evidence was there before me. And the pregnancy seemed to have filled her with hope, with resolve for the future.” He hesitated, cleared his throat. “She asked me to be with her for the birth.”
“Oh?” I was both shocked and fascinated by this disclosure. “Did you go? Were you with her?”
“Yes, I was with her. She had no-one, Rosie. She knew it was a lot to ask. If you’d been well, she’d have asked you.”
“Would she?”
“Oh, yes. It was only because I’d told her you were ill - after the twins - that she thought she’d wait until after she’d had the baby before she got in touch. I agreed that was best. She was so looking forward to seeing you, Rosie, to showing you how she’d changed, to showing you her baby.” He paused again. “Anyway, I justified being with her for the birth, by telling myself that it’s what you’d have wanted.” He looked at me, waited for my reaction.
“Yes.” I nodded slowly.
“The birth was very straightforward. She was so happy. I took her home to her flat a couple of days later. The church group had got a load of baby stuff together for her and I bought her some bits and pieces. The social workers were hovering, but they seemed fairly relaxed about Heather’s fitness as a mother. I arranged to drop in on her once a week – and for a few weeks it was fine.”
“You were amazing Tom, doing all that for her.”
He shook his head. “You haven’t heard it all yet, Rosie.” He ran his hands through his hair, sat back, looked up at the ceiling and exhaled loudly.
I put my hand on his arm. “Tom, are you okay?”
He turned and looked at me, his face drawn and pale. “I’m all right. It’s just – well this is difficult. It was cruel, Rosie – what happened to her – it was cruel.” He sat forward, gazing into the fire as he spoke. “She found out she was HIV positive.”
Change Of Life Page 34