Probably the Best Kiss in the World

by Pernille Hughes

  She nodded this time, equally slowly. She found him hypnotic. Good grief. She sensed perhaps she should shake herself out of this, but then his eyes flicked to her lips and back and then his gorgeous face and lips were moving closer and closer to hers.

  And closer.

  The tour would definitely have to wait.

  It was a kiss unlike the other but equally perfect, at first a whiling of time, softly gentle but with purpose, as if they’d both been waiting to do this and now was simply the moment. There was no rush, or desperation, but it was passionate none-the-less as it grew in intensity, each of them matching the pace as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He lightly held her face as he slid off the counter and moved to stand between her knees, sustaining the kiss throughout. Jen pulled herself forward, so they were closer still, interlocked. The movements were utterly in tune, they fitted together just so.

  “Jen, can I ask you again?” he murmured into the skin on her throat, his hand sliding down her side, teasingly skirting her boob. Fingers in his hair, Jen briefly wondered whether her knickers were fireproof.

  She didn’t need him to ask. She had this.

  “Yakob, will you stay?”

  Chapter 24

  The bed space beside her was rumpled, but empty. His scent still lingered, the aftershave and the olfactory ghost of a sweaty sexy night. Mmmm. She wanted to bottle that somehow. Looking beyond the bed, she could see his shoes strewn where he’d kicked them off. He hadn’t gone then. Good. Not that she thought for a second he’d have slunk out, never to be seen again. The things he’d whispered to her last night, intimate things he planned to do with her in the future, told her he hadn’t done a moonlight flit.

  Getting up was an interesting experience, some muscles whinging from unusual usage. Not abnormal, just not what she was used to. It had been thrilling and lived up to everything his kisses had promised.

  The clock said it was 7 a.m., but the lightness of the summer morning made it feel earlier. She was exhausted too. That didn’t help. There hadn’t been much sleeping going on. It was a minor miracle she could stand. Now she understood Lydia’s dedication. Exhaustion and muscle aches aside, mentally Jen felt supercharged; confident and glowing. She pulled on her ancient dressing gown, realised it wasn’t fit for human eyes, and quickly dug out the slinkiest of her nightshirts.

  Whilst trying to finger out the mess of her bed-head sex-hair, Jen trod carefully down the stairs, keen to avoid the squeak of the fourth step. She hadn’t been so careful last night, as they virtually tumbled up the stairs, fumbling at buttons and zips as they went, lips locked the whole way. The house had been still when they’d come in from the outbuilding and she’d assumed Lydia had gone out. In spite of her recent lecture, last night she hadn’t cared where her sister went or what she did, as long as it was out.

  Hearing chatter in the kitchen, she abandoned her stealthiness.

  “What’s your busking skill?” asked Lydia’s voice.

  “Busking? Like street entertaining? I don’t have one.”

  Lydia drew her breath through her teeth. “Everyone needs a busking skill, Yakob. What if you completely hit the skids?”

  “Good point. I don’t know. Perhaps I could whistle.” He genuinely sounded worried at his lack of proficiency. “You?” Jen spied on them through the gap between the open door and frame. Lydia sat on the counter as Yakob made coffees. She was dressed for work, a short-skirted suit showing her cosmesis back in situ.

  “Well, Jen’s let me down on my upbringing there, really. I reckon I’m good for spraying myself gold and standing very still in public places. Maybe that. Or I could charge little kids to touch the robot leg.”

  “Eight-year-olds would think that was awesome. You’ll be a hit. And your apocalypse skill?” he asked, turning the tables. It struck Jen how comfortable they were with each other. Granted Lydia was no shy child, but it wasn’t every day – or ever, actually – that she woke up to a strange man in the house. This could have had awkward written all over it.

  “What?!” Lydia asked.

  “Come the apocalypse, Lydia, what skill will ensure your survival?” There followed a silence as Lydia brooded the question.

  “I can use my leg to smuggle things or whack people with. They won’t expect it.”

  “Good one.” He took a slurp of his coffee and handed Lydia hers, before picking up the last which Jen assumed would be for her. Their chatter was so easy, if ridiculous in subject matter. She envied the ability for frivolous chat. She was more about facts and getting to the pertinent points.

  “That,” continued Lydia, “or I can sell sex to get more rations. You?”

  “Morning!” Jen interrupted. It was time to shut down the conversation. She’d have to discover his apocalypse skill later. She wanted to know, only she needed to think of her own first. She supposed Excel spreadsheets would fall by the wayside, come the apocalypse. “I see introductions aren’t necessary.” She could probably dispense with any of her own awkwardness too. It wasn’t like she hadn’t shared the kitchen with a million of Lydia’s visitors, often just in their under-crackers and besides, these two already appeared to have bonded. She couldn’t decide whether she was narked or pleased.

  Placing his cup, Yakob reached out an arm and reeled her in for a kiss to the temple. He kept her against him as they stood. Jen wasn’t sure what to say. Lydia jumped down from the counter. “Gotta go.”

  “Lydia needs to catch her train to London,” Jen explained.

  “Lydia,” corrected Lydia to Yakob, “needs to stop by Boots for a bumper box of ear plugs. I’m going to need them if you’re staying again.” Lydia didn’t look back as she left the kitchen. “Honestly, all the sex noise – it was like having Mum and Dad back in the house. Gross.” The front door slammed moments later. Jen wasn’t sure where to go from there.

  Thankfully, Yakob did, launching a slow volley of kisses across the back of her neck. She felt her legs go wobbly again. She looked up at the kitchen clock. Maybe …

  “No,” he said slowly, against her throat, “I have to go.” Her low moan was either dismay or want, she was too away with the sensation to be sure. She felt his low laugh at her nape, which did nothing to diminish the sensitivity of her skin. She had never looked at the kitchen table in this particular way before. Surely just five …

  “I’m sorry.” He dropped his forehead against her hair. He seemed as disappointed as she was. In fact, there was something pressuring her hip which suggested she wasn’t alone in the wanting. “I have a meeting and a flight to catch. I’ll be back though, Jen. Soon. Yes?” The first sounded apologetic, the second certainly hopeful and the last, endearingly asking for permission.

  She stepped away and kissed him. Not a full-on snog, because morning breath, but definitely one that held intent. “Absolutely, yes.”

  He left the kitchen and she heard him head up the stairs to retrieve his shoes, then the thudding as he returned. He slung an arm around her waist and pulled her to him as if they were in a film. “Leaving is unbeerable.” She rolled her eyes and admonished him with an Oh beer me! which earned her a laughing kiss. “See you soon, Jen.”

  Feeling her euphoria beginning to ebb, she followed him to the door, stopping to hand him his Copenhagen shorts, which she’d washed, rolled and bound with a red ribbon, before opening the door to let him out. The day looked set to be another scorcher, but Jen was feeling her blood cooling and with it a sense of loss. He turned on the step and planted another kiss on her. “Get brewing, Ninkasi. I’ll be back to sample the goods.” Man, he made that sound filthy.

  He was in his small black Audi before she could think of a sexy answer. Sexy answers did not come naturally, and she would have sold her hair to have had one just then. With a wave he was gone and it was as if he’d gone back to being a dream.

  Deflating fast Jen headed into the kitchen and held her coffee, surreptitiously sniffing the mug, his aftershave having left its trace on the sides. She supposed
this was the fabled “drop”. She didn’t much like it. Looking at the clock, she saw she’d need to leave for work shortly. She didn’t much like that either. The doorbell rang and she nearly threw the coffee in the air in celebration. He was back. He’d reconsidered the table-top quickie. He could drive at double speed after.

  She swung the door open, trying for a sexy pose, face beaming. And caught the beam from crashing as she realised it was someone else entirely standing in front of her. Someone who must have passed Yakob’s car moments ago. Someone she hadn’t given a second’s thought since before leaving the office yesterday.

  “Morning Gorgeous,” Robert said, stretching in over the doorstep to give her a fleeting kiss, as her stomach crashed through her feet. “I thought I’d give you lift in.”

  Jen stumbled like a zombie through the shower and around her room getting dressed. The nausea she was feeling was dreadful. Her head was pounding with guilt. What had she done? And why hadn’t she thought of it? She was engaged for goodness sake and it hadn’t even crossed her mind while she’d been busy kissing Yakob, or undressing him, or watching him mesmerised as he slowly divested her of her own clothes, or while they’d been swept up in all the deliciously lovely and heart-thrashing, exhilarating things they’d done. Not once. How could that be?

  She came shamefaced down the stairs, convinced he’d be able to see the deceit on her. Or smell it. She must surely reek of betrayal.

  Jiggling his car keys, Robert headed out of the door oblivious to her turmoil. It made her feel even worse. He was so trusting and she should have been worthy of that trust. She’d let their relationship down. She’d let herself down. She’d been a poor ambassador for the Attison family. As the door closed she took a quick look back at her parents’ faces in the picture. She expected them to be frowning, appalled. Strangely, they were still beaming at her. Well, parents were supposed to love you no matter what, weren’t they?

  “Are you all right, Jen?” Robert asked, as they drove down the street. “You’re looking pale.” She was trying to quell the gut-twisting nausea again, but it might also have had something to do with his over-powering air-freshener. It was cloying in its sickly-sweetness, but he seemed unbothered by it.

  “Not much sleep,” she murmured, keeping her eyes straight ahead. She was too ashamed to look him in the face. He deserved so much better. More than once she opened her mouth to confess all and beg his forgiveness, but something stopped her. She should discuss this with someone first. Alice perhaps, but that would involve sharing her shame with another person, whereas Lydia already knew. She was working on some judgement limitation here. She could take Lydia lording it over her, if it spared her the disapproval of her friends. If she was honest with herself, she didn’t want anyone to know she’d lost control of things – loyalty and decency for starters – for a while there, either.

  “This’ll perk you up,” Robert said excitedly, reaching under her seat. He lifted a small white paper bag up onto her lap. “Happy three and a half week engagement anniversary.” Oh God. Could humans die of shame? Was that a thing?

  She wanted to give it straight back with a “No no, I don’t deserve it”, and she should offer him the option of annulling the engagement. That would be the decent thing. She should give him back the ring – although that was actually a plus point. Perhaps she should see the ring as her penance now, a symbol of her ugly nature to carry until death did them part, in lieu of a scarlet letter.

  “Go on, silly billy. Open it.”

  Smiling weakly, only wanting to please him, she did so. A new iPhone box lay in her lap. A big fat tear rolled down her cheek and splashed onto the box.

  “I knew you’d love it,” Robert said, grinning as he steered through the traffic. “Back to your apps. No more bits of paper.” Jen nodded with a sniff, trying to hold back further tears, stroking the box with her fingers. “And now I can send you all my diary notifications.”

  He pulled up outside the office and leaned over to her. “There’s another surprise. But you’ll have to wait for that.” He took her face in his hands then, a move that nearly broke her as his hands overlaid the imprint of Yakob’s. He kissed her, firmly and succinctly, then released her.

  She waggled the box at him with a wan “Thank you, Robert,” then let herself out of the car, trying not to stumble under the weight of her guilt.

  After an entire morning of wretchedness and self-flagellation, entirely unnoticed by Ava because the first consignment of crampons arrived and instigated a Skype party with Zara, Jen got her other surprise. Still sniffling, she had miserably switched the SIM from The Phone of Shame, briefly thinking how apt it was now and she should be made to keep it. Forever.

  The new phone flashed to life and she spent an hour resurrecting her old apps. ChAPPel provoked a sob from her as it loaded and she couldn’t bring herself to open it. As WhatsApp took its rightful place back in her life, a message pinged in from Robert.

  Golf weekend at the

  end of the month

  cancelled, Jen.

  Let’s get married!

  Robert

  The calendar notification setting the date popped up immediately after and Jen’s nausea finally won.

  Chapter 25

  Almost three days had passed since Charlie had called Lydia to come and help Jen. Normally, when she’d sought sanctuary from life’s stresses, she’d go to the outbuilding, comforted by the hoppy smells. But the outbuilding couldn’t be that place any more. Not when every inch of it would now remind her of Yakob and realising this made her chest hurt unbearably. She’d never known guilt could be so painful. She assumed this was guilt. What else could it be?

  A panicking Ava had sent her home at first puke. Apparently, there was nothing worse on earth than four boys vomming in synch, so Jen was immediately quarantined under school regulations, not to return until she’d been clear of any sick or potential squits for forty-eight hours. It was a blessing. She went to the only place she could think of to get her head straight; the workshop at the Arches and its comforting scents. And there she’d stood, blubbing, telling Charlie about all her plans for the place in lieu of confessing what really had her howling, while he’d stood there slightly scared, telling her she could have the place as soon as she liked, because his back was buggered and his wife would be delighted. He’d then scuttled off to phone Lydia, suggesting Jen might be having a small breakdown.

  “It’s all right Charlie, I’ve got this,” Lydia said, when she arrived. “To be honest, it’s not a shock she’s imploded. I was wondering when it would hit.” She took the near-catatonic Jen by the hand, away from the corner she was sitting in, out into the light of the rear yard. It was a tip, a general dumping ground for spare bits that would never be used, but hoarded “just in case”. A small area had been safeguarded however, with a rusty table and two chairs, and an overflowing ashtray crafted from an upturned hubcap.

  “Robert came by the house,” Jen said, like an automaton. Lydia could do the maths.

  “Before or after Yakob left?”

  “After. But that’s not the point, is it?”

  “Well, silver lining; less awkward,” Lydia said, with a shrug.

  Jen felt another breach in her tear dam. She’d been trying very hard not to upset Charlie further in there, but it was impossible to keep it up for Lydia’s benefit. “I’m such a bad person,” she whispered.

  “Jen, you aren’t bad. You’ve just made a mistake.”

  “I know,” she sniffled, staring at nothing in particular. Looking anyone in the eye today was a no-no. “I know it was a mistake, but it was amazing Lyds, and he just gets me.” She needed to say this. She needed to tell someone. In the event that she did die of misery, then at least someone could whisper to Yakob that he’d meant something to her.

  “Jen.” Lydia’s voice was stern, like she wanted her sister to snap out of this. “The mistake wasn’t sleeping with Yakob. From what I heard, that was a gift from God. The mistake was accepting Robe
rt’s proposal. The sooner you see that and break it off, the better.”

  Jen opened her mouth to say not this again Lydia, but found her sister’s flat palm in her face, stopping her. “It’s not just that I think he’s a dullard and all the things I said before, though they still stand. I saw the way you were around Yakob this morning. Even for those few minutes you were a different person. Happy. Relaxed. Smitten. And that’s the thing Jen; even if Yakob isn’t the one, Robert definitely isn’t either. That’s what you have to see. That’s why marrying him is a mistake. I don’t know if you’ve fallen head over heels in love with Yakob, but what I do know is you don’t love Robert. You think of him fondly, but not once have you said you loved him.” Jen thought back. Lydia was possibly right. She hadn’t ever said that. Not about him, or to him. But he’d never said it to her either. They just didn’t use words like that.

  “Robert’s a good man, Lydia. We’ve known each other for years and he’s good and kind and … Dad said he was a decent man. Dad knew him. Dad approved of him.” Large tears started to spill as Jen tried to make a cohesive argument.

  “Oh my God, Jen,” Lydia said with a disbelieving laugh, “Dad saying he thought Robert was a decent bloke wasn’t the same as him giving his blessing as your life mate.”

  “We’ll never know,” exclaimed Jen, “it’s the closest I’ve got.” Learning to adult had been hard enough without her parents to guide her, so she had hung on to the few remnants she had of what they might have advised. This one had seemed to make sense to her when accepting Robert’s surprise proposal.

  Lydia shook her head firmly. “You can’t steer your life by a throwaway comment. Dad thought the postman was a decent chap too when he helped him down from the roof when the ladder fell. Remember that? Should we go looking for him for you?” Jen made a blubbing snort, which could have been a snotty laugh or sob. Lydia carried on unhindered by the snot. “Dad would want you to be happy Jen, of course he would, but you’re putting words in his mouth and he isn’t here to confirm them.” Well, that sort of made sense she supposed, but that didn’t change the facts as they stood.