More Than a Feeling

by Cate Woods

  We’re now approaching a fork in the pathway: the main trail continues on to the bandstand and there’s a smaller path that at first glance seems to lead to a dead-end – a tall and impenetrable hedge – but on closer inspection carries on through a narrow opening in the leaves. Without even hesitating, this is the route we choose.

  As we pass through the gap in the hedge, it feels like we’re stepping into a different world. After the brightness outside, it takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness: the narrow path is hemmed in on either side and above our heads by greenery, giving the impression that we’re in a secret tunnel leading to the heart of the park. It’s much cooler in here and the specks of sunlight that have managed to penetrate the leafy roof dapple the path in front of us. We walk on in silence, which further emphasises the fact that we’re now completely alone, the only sound the crunching of our feet on gravel. With the change of scene has come a noticeable change of atmosphere between us too: anticipation hangs heavy in the air, as palpable as the buzzing of tropical insects, and growing with each step. It’s like the eerie stillness before a thunderstorm: you can tell something significant is about to happen.

  I glance at Sam – he’s focused on the path ahead – and suddenly, out of nowhere, I’m hit by a wave of doubt. What about Luke? Regardless of what he’s done, we are still in a relationship, and in that case me being here with Sam (and, more to the point, desperately fancying him) is wrong – or at least a very grey area. But Luke was the one who made it grey in the first place, I remind myself firmly. I’d been perfectly happy with black and white. And with that I chase any reservations from my mind.

  The end of the tunnel is getting nearer now and Sam and I both slow down, as if neither of us want to leave the privacy of the passage just yet. I look at him again, but while he does seem deep in thought, he could well just be wondering what to have for his tea.

  ‘So how long are you going to be in London for?’ I ask, struggling to keep the longing out of my voice.

  ‘Officially about three more months, but I’m thinking about seeing if I can stay on for a while.’ He gives me a quick, uncertain smile. ‘I like it here.’

  My heart gives a little jump. Does he mean he likes me?

  Then Sam comes to a standstill, and as I turn to face him I’m tingling with anticipation, like immensely pleasurable pins and needles.

  ‘Annie, I’m really glad we met up today. I’ve been thinking about you a lot, you know. Since that first day we met.’

  ‘When I jumped on you?’

  ‘That’s right.’ He’s smiling, but his eyes are gripping mine with a new intensity. I feel my breathing quicken and grow shallow as he reaches for my hand.

  ‘Come here, Cinderella,’ he says softly. ‘I think we have some unfinished business.’

  His fingers clasp around mine, electricity shooting through my skin where we touch, and he draws me towards him until I’m close enough to make out the golden flecks in his blue-grey eyes and the sprinkling of freckles on his nose. We stay like that for a moment, just drinking each other in, so still it’s as if we’re part of the surrounding foliage, then he brings up his hand and softly pushes a strand of hair away from my face: it’s such an unexpected, intimate gesture that I can’t help but gasp. I’m high on lust – I can’t ever remember wanting someone so badly.

  Then Sam leans his face towards mine; as our lips touch, I close my eyes. And in that instant, it’s as if my body dissolves to liquid and I’m floating on a sea of pleasure, the waves ebbing and flowing as we kiss, unaware of anything but the warmth and smell and feel of him.

  God, I’d forgotten how bloody amazing kisses can be. In long-term relationships they can become something almost utilitarian, as greetings or the prelude to something else, but this – this is better than the best-ever sex. And it goes on and on, getting increasingly intense, a release, yet at the same time a build-up, of excitement and tension that is becoming deliciously unbearable.

  We pull apart for a moment, looking into each other’s eyes.

  ‘You are an incredible kisser,’ says Sam, his arms tightly wrapped around me.

  ‘I believe it’s a team effort.’

  He smiles. ‘I’d really like to do this a lot,’ he goes on, brushing his lips against mine. ‘Like, as often as possible.’ He kisses me again, more insistently this time. ‘With you, I mean.’

  ‘I’m so glad you clarified that,’ I murmur, my eyes already closed as we lean into each other again, and then the words dissipate and float up into the leafy canopy in a haze of desire.

  33

  ‘You been at the gym, Annie?’

  Dot’s childminder, Helen, is standing at her front door, head cocked to one side and eyes narrowed as she takes in my dishevelled appearance.

  ‘I’m not that keen on gyms myself.’ She folds her arms. ‘It’s the sweating I take issue with. Although having said that, I did have a go at Zumba once and the instructor told me I had an extremely powerful pelvis.’

  ‘Gosh, that must be . . . useful,’ I say, nodding. ‘And yes, I was at the gym, and I’m afraid my spinning class overran, which is why I’m a bit late. I’m so sorry.’

  Helen gives my arm a kindly pat. ‘Not to worry, love, you’re one of my more punctual mummies, so I’ll forgive you.’ She stands to one side to let me past. ‘Dottie’s on the play mat outside, go on through . . .’

  I’m still tugging guiltily at my ear as I make my way through to the garden, but really, what else could I have said? ‘Actually, Helen, my flushed cheeks and bird’s-nest hair are not the after-effects of a vigorous workout, but of an intensely passionate twenty-minute kiss with a devastatingly sexy Canadian – oh, and a mad ten-minute dash from the bus stop to get here, because I was so out of my tree with lust that I forgot I had to collect my daughter.’

  No, in this instance a small lie was probably prudent.

  Dottie is propped up against a cushion under the shade of an apple tree, toys scattered in front of her. When she spots me she breaks into a smile, showing off the two tiny white pearls of front teeth she has recently sprouted, and holds out her arms with a delighted squeal. I sweep her up and hold her to me, her head nuzzled into my neck.

  ‘I love you so, so much,’ I murmur into the silky fuzz of her hair. ‘Whatever happens, you are and always will be the most important thing in my life.’

  I’m trying to fight it, but now I’m here with Dot I’m suddenly feeling awful about what happened with Sam. My old friend Mummy Guilt is back and literally screaming inside my head: What a terrible mother you are! Gadding around, selfishly indulging your baser instincts, when you have this beautiful, innocent child to look after. It’s neglectful and wicked, and you should be ashamed of yourself.

  I can feel myself spinning out of control and squeeze my eyes shut, determined to keep things in perspective. I may be a mother, but I still have every right to have a bit of fun. Now bugger off and let me enjoy the rest of the afternoon with my daughter. Oh, and by the way – I intend to do plenty more gadding, so you better get used to it, okay?

  Dot spends our bus journey home giggling at a very sweet elderly gentleman who obligingly plays ‘Peepo’ all the way back to Streatham, and by the time we arrive at Jess’ front door, I have managed to rationalise the guilt – because after all, what could be better for Dot than to have a happy mum? – and am back on my post-Sam high.

  I let myself in, calling cheerily: ‘Hey honey, I’m home!’

  ‘In here, Annie,’ comes Jess’ voice from the kitchen.

  I dump my coat and changing bag in the hallway and make my way down the corridor with Dot on my hip. ‘Jessica, you will not believe what happened to me today . . .’

  But as soon as I get through the kitchen door I freeze, because there – sitting on a stool at the island, right next to Jess’ fruit bowl of condoms – is pretty much the last person I want to see right now.

  ‘Look who just arrived!’ Jess gives me a look that plainly says: I don’t kno
w what the hell he’s doing here either.

  ‘Luke,’ I say stupidly, staring at him, dazed. It’s as if he’s been conjured here by Mummy Guilt, like the Ghost of Fuck-mas Past.

  ‘Surprise!’ He gets to his feet with a broad smile, holding his arms out for Dot. ‘How are my girls?’

  He drops a kiss on my cheek, exactly where Sam did just a few hours ago, and it burns like a brand. ‘We’re absolutely fine, thank you!’ I say, trying to cover my discomfort with cheeriness. Then I notice his half-empty coffee cup: he’s obviously been here some time. ‘Did we . . . arrange to meet up?’

  ‘I needed to talk to you about something,’ he says, cuddling Dot. ‘And I was in the area, so . . .’

  I don’t believe that for a second. Luke has always been extremely sniffy about Streatham, even though it’s barely a mile from his flat; he’s also still wearing his work suit. Whatever this surprise visit is about, it’s clearly important enough for him to leave the office early and make a significant detour.

  ‘Well, I’m going to leave you kids to it.’ Jess grabs her keys and phone and starts heading for the door.

  ‘Don’t go Jess, we can talk upstairs . . .’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got a hair appointment.’ She squeezes my arm as she passes, adding under her breath: ‘Call if you need me, okay?’

  After a few moments I hear the sound of the front door shutting, leaving me and Luke alone. I get a sudden, vivid flashback – Sam’s lips on mine, our bodies pressing against each other – and heat floods my face.

  ‘So, would you like more coffee?’ I ask Luke, excessively jolly. ‘I’m just going to make myself a cup. Gosh, it’s been such a busy day, you wouldn’t believe!’

  ‘I’m fine, thanks, Annie.’ He’s holding Dot so she’s standing on his lap, their faces just millimetres apart. She grins at him for a moment, then launches at him open-mouthed, going for his nose. ‘Ouch, that hurts.’ He laughs, as she collapses into giggles.

  I can’t help but smile. ‘I forgot to tell you – her bottom front teeth are coming through.’

  Luke pulls back to look. ‘Hey, so they are! My little girl is growing up so fast . . .’

  As always, seeing Dot and Luke together melts my heart; it reminds me of those blissful early days after we brought her home from hospital, when the three of us lived together in this crazy, sleepless, love-filled bubble . . . My mind wanders back to that happy time – but then the click of the kettle coming to boil jolts me back to the present.

  ‘So what was it you needed to talk to me about?’

  ‘Ah – right. Okay. The thing is, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking – well, more like soul-searching, really – and I’ve come up with a couple of ideas that might resolve our current situation.’

  ‘Okay . . .’

  ‘Because I can’t go on the way we are now, Annie. It’s killing me, us living apart. I know I screwed things up, but you have to let me at least try to fix it, because at the moment you’re not even giving me that chance.’

  I immediately feel my hackles rising. ‘Well, I’m not sure it’s . . .’

  Luke cuts me off. ‘Please, just let me say my piece, okay?’

  I take in his earnest expression and the tremor in his voice, and nod mutely.

  ‘Okay.’ He exhales heavily. ‘So as I understand it, our main problem is that you don’t feel able to trust me because of what happened. I can tell you that you can trust me until I’m blue in the face, but I get that’s not going to help. So what I was thinking . . . is that perhaps we should consider going to, well, counselling.’

  I gawp at him, wide-eyed. Has Luke, a man for whom a stiff upper lip is a badge of honour, really just suggested we go to therapy? To put this in context, when one of his mates started grief counselling after the death of his beloved dad, Luke told him he was being ‘weak’. To say my gob is smacked is an understatement.

  ‘I know, it’s true I’ve never been a fan of . . . that sort of thing,’ he says, correctly reading my expression. ‘But if it will help win you back, so that we can be a family again, then I’m prepared to do it.’

  ‘Luke, I . . .’

  ‘Hold on, I’m not finished. That’s just part one of the plan.’ He fiddles with his tie, as if it’s too tight. ‘Here, can you just hold Dottie for a sec . . .’

  He rubs his palms against his trousers, as if they’re clammy with nerves.

  ‘Right. Okay.’ He makes a weird clicking noise in his throat. ‘So, my other suggestion – well, I suppose it’s more of a question, really – will also hopefully prove that you can trust me, and that I am serious about being with you.’ He loosens his tie again. ‘Alright. Here goes.’ And then, in a swift, sudden movement, he drops to his knee. ‘Annie Taylor, I want nothing more than to be a family with you and our daughter, so would you do me the greatest honour and agree to marry me?’

  My mind instantly goes blank, as if it’s been shocked out of rational thought. My hand flies to my chest, and I think I must stop breathing, as after a few seconds I take a sudden, juddering gasp of air.

  ‘Annie?’ He bites his lip. ‘You can say something now.’

  ‘Luke . . . I . . . don’t know what to say.’ At least there’s no ring; this would be a hell of a lot more awkward if he was holding out a massive rock.

  He tries to smile, but it’s more of a grimace. ‘I think “yes” is considered appropriate in these situations.’

  I stare at him kneeling on Jess’ kitchen floor, and it strikes me how differently I would have felt if this had happened a few months ago. Back then, I would have assumed I’d reached the pinnacle of my entire life’s happiness. Now, however, I’m afraid my first thought is: I can’t believe you’ve knelt on the floor in your Richard James suit. I can still remember the fuss you made that time I spilt the tiniest bit of red wine on it.

  ‘Annie?’ Luke looks like he’s seriously regretting this whole idea.

  ‘Luke, I’m so sorry, but would you mind getting up?’

  He jumps to his feet at once, brushing down his trousers, and takes Dot back. ‘But I thought this is what you wanted?’

  ‘It is – well, it was – but . . .’ Surely I shouldn’t need to explain to him that his timing’s not ideal? ‘Look, if we get married, I want it to be for the right reasons, not as a way of trying to fix our relationship. I want it to be a celebration, not a sticking plaster. So I’m not saying no, but I’m not saying yes right now either – although that doesn’t mean I won’t in future. Does that make sense?’

  Luke nods. ‘I just want to move on from what happened, and I thought this would be a good way to make a fresh start.’

  ‘And it’s a really lovely idea, but just . . .’ I squeeze his hand. ‘Let’s take it slowly, okay?’

  ‘Okay.’ He lets out a breath and then smiles; he actually looks quite relieved. ‘But you’ll come to counselling, right?’

  Of course we should go – it’s a no-brainer. If I asked an agony aunt what we should do about our situation they would reply: couples’ counselling, duh. I just didn’t think in a million years that Luke would ever consider it, and now – well, right now all I can think about is Sam, and how deliriously happy I was this afternoon. I’m desperate to see him again, to spend as much time with him as I possibly can, to keep scratching that unbearably pleasurable itch . . .

  And yet whatever happened between Sam and me – and chances are it would only be a brief fling – these feelings of elation wouldn’t last forever. Relationships, even the very best of them, require hard work. Yes, right now I feel convinced that Sam and I have a really special connection, but Luke and I have history – we have a child, for God’s sake. And okay, he’s behaved appallingly, but he’s now clearly trying his hardest to make it right: surely I owe him that chance? I certainly owe it to Dot.

  ‘I’m not just going through the motions, honestly, Annie,’ says Luke, picking up on my uncertainty. ‘I promise I’ll come to all the sessions, I’ll take it seriously and stick with it.
Just please, let’s give it a go. I feel like you’re slipping away from me, and I really don’t want that to happen. I care so much for you, Annie; I’m willing to fight for our family. You’re Dot’s mum – we need to be together.’

  Luke’s eyes are imploring, his voice thick with emotion. Would I feel more sure about giving our relationship another go if I hadn’t met Sam? Perhaps – although I’m actually far from convinced. I haven’t been sure about Luke since the moment I found out about his extracurricular activities with Sigrid. Even before that kiss-of-a-lifetime this afternoon, I had been rebuilding my life without Luke in it: I had already moved on, even if I hadn’t admitted it to myself.

  Dot, who has been chomping at her fingers, has started to fuss and fidget in Luke’s arms.

  ‘Hey, are you hungry, little one?’ he asks, stroking her face.

  There’s such tenderness in his gesture: it’s obvious how much he adores her. And in that moment I come to a decision – the only decision I can really make in the circumstances.

  ‘Fine,’ I say. ‘Let’s find a counsellor.’

  ‘Fantastic!’ He draws me into a hug, Dot pressed between us. ‘I’m so pleased.’

  ‘One day at a time though, okay?’

  ‘One day at a time.’ He draws back and beams at me. ‘Thank you so much for giving us a chance, patatina, I promise you won’t regret it.’

  I force myself to swallow down my automatic response – we’ll have to see about that – and instead ask: ‘Would you like to stay and help bath Dottie?’

  ‘Yes, please, I’d love that.’ He looks so happy that I feel reassured; at least I’m doing the right thing for our daughter.