She pulled away, using my top to wipe her gunky eyes and blow her snotty nose on.
‘You really think so?’
‘Yes, I really do. Go and have a shower, take some paracetamol, and go find him. You’ll work it out. And throw those fags away while you’re at it.’
She nodded, drank some more water, and stopped hyperventilating.
‘Thanks, Mum,’ she said. I savoured the moment, knowing they’d be few and far between for the next few years. I was under no illusions that we’d be skipping off shopping together and swapping boy-talk from now on.
‘So,’ she said, shuffling under the blankets again, ‘what about you, then? How are things with you?’
I couldn’t have been more surprised if the toilet brush had asked me how I was. I was so stunned, I couldn’t even formulate words. I stared at her, my mouth gawping like a malfunctioning robot. Lucy asking how I am? Does not compute, does not compute. She stared at me, waiting for my answer.
When it didn’t come immediately, her face turned to thunder.
‘Oh never mind!’ she snapped. ‘Typical! I spill my guts and get nothing in return – it’s all one bloody way with you, isn’t it? Now move your fat arse because I’m going to be sick!’
Normal service, it seemed, had been resumed.
Chapter 17
The night before my fortieth birthday was spent in the company of my newfound friends at the bar. Mike was doing a stand-up routine, sitting down, and Jenny and Ian were playing an athletic drinking-game version of ping pong. I suspected Jenny was losing on purpose just so she could get drunk. The very definition of work hard, play hard, all in one activity.
James was enjoying a night of freedom, as the kids’ club was holding a pyjama party, where all the little ones spent the night on tiny roll-out mattresses and ate M&Ms until dawn.
Rick and Marcia were deep in conversation with the Ravishing McTavish. At no point did I see her slip her false teeth out, so I guessed they were safe.
I’d spent lunch with the Blue Bay’s most confusing couple that day, and realised that, although they might be unusual, to say the least, they were also completely comfortable in each other’s company, bantering like a pair of divas and anticipating each other’s needs like mind-readers.
They were also fiercely protective of each other, and their extended holiday friends – which now seemed to include me.
‘He must need a kick in the arse,’ said Marcia, when we were discussing Simon’s betrayal.
‘Totally,’ added Rick, holding his wife’s hand over the table, his arm being used as an ashtray. ‘Some men just don’t appreciate what they’ve got.’
I was grateful for their support – and even though I had no idea what Rick had got, I knew he definitely appreciated it.
Ollie had succumbed to teenaged energy drain after a day of water-skiing, windsurfing and Xbox action with his friends the Ginger Twins, Carin and Christian. He’d slouched off for an early night after eating pretty much a whole pig at dinner.
And I was having one of those strange evenings where, no matter how much I drank, I stayed sober. In fact I was edging towards melancholy, and nobody likes a sad clown drunk, do they?
By 11.30 they were all hammered to varying degrees. James was holding it together, and Mike was taking the precaution of not moving from his bar stool, getting the waiters to place drinks directly into his hands.
Allie, Max and Lucy had been late-night shopping, and Allie was full of stories about what a master haggler Lucy was. I could imagine. After five minutes of that mouth, any self-respecting shopkeeper would pay her to leave so she didn’t scare off the other customers.
Satisfied all was well with my offspring, I slipped off to the beach, where I sat down on the sand. The waves were gently whispering on to the shore, and the night air was still balmy. It was beautiful.
I glanced at my watch. Five minutes to go before the big 4-0 was finally upon me. I wasn’t celebrating in quite the way I’d anticipated. I never got that Dyson. Or the Botox. Instead I’d lost a husband, and gained several vibrators.
I was hoping I could pull off this ‘being alone’ thing if I tried harder, and stopped torturing myself thinking about Simon with another woman. He’d made his choice, and it said more about him than it did me. I needed to concentrate on building a new future, now the one I’d counted on was dead and buried. Somehow, it felt appropriate to be turning forty here – the place where I’d come to lick my wounds, to try and recover. It was a fresh start, I told myself.
It was a great pep talk, but in my heart I wasn’t totally buying it. I felt useless. The kids were growing up. They didn’t really need me any more. I had no real career, no close friends. My whole life had been built around my family, and my husband. But now Simon was in love with someone else. I was a spare part, hanging round making sandwiches for everyone as they got on with their lives. Yeah, a melancholy drunk.
‘What are you doing out here on your own?’ said James, dropping down beside me and rudely interrupting my pity party. He handed me a fresh drink, which I probably didn’t need.
I looked at his face in the moonlight. I could still make out the piercing blue of his eyes and his short blond hair. He smelled of something spicy and woody and subtly masculine.
‘I’m waiting for my life to begin,’ I said, mysteriously.
‘In that case you’d better have a drink, it might take a while,’ he said, smiling and reaching round to tuck my hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering on my cheek. We could have been the only two people in the world right then. I think I’d have liked that, just for an hour or two. Then the contact dropped, his hand returned to his lap, and I felt alone again.
He thought about what I’d said for a few moments.
‘So – it’s your fortieth?’ he asked, once he’d figured it out.
I looked at my watch again. The hand clicked on to midnight.
‘It’s official,’ I said, ‘I am now forty. Can’t say I feel much different…’
‘No, I didn’t after mine,’ he said, ‘just very hungover the next day. You should have told us. We could have done something to celebrate…but I suppose that’s exactly what you wanted to avoid, isn’t it?’
I nodded and looked out to sea again. I wasn’t in what you’d call a celebratory mood.
‘Well, happy birthday, Sally,’ he said simply, putting his arm round my shoulders. It felt nice, and I leaned into him, resting my head on his chest. Maybe if I tried very hard, I could forget who we were for a while, and give my aching brain some rest. Enjoy the kindness of a stranger for what it was – a fleeting moment, bathed in moonlight on a foreign shore.
After a few silent minutes, he kissed me lightly on the head and held me tighter for a second.
‘Do you want to come back to my room for a drink? I’ve got some champagne in the fridge I won at the tennis tournament…and you seem like you need cheering up.’
I took his hand and pulled myself up, dusting the sand from my skirt.
This, I thought, was one of two things: a friendly offer that I didn’t need to worry about. Or a huge mistake in the making. I should, of course, refuse. Preserve either my dignity or my virtue, depending on which way the night went. Obviously I did neither.
‘I might as well,’ I replied. ‘All I have back in my room are two grumpy teenagers and a multipack of Daim bars…’
Chapter 18
On the short walk back to his room I wondered what, exactly, I thought I was doing.
I’d resolved myself to happy celibacy for the rest of my life. I was still half in love with my crazy husband. And I hadn’t had sex with anybody other than said crazy husband for the last seventeen years, and not even that much with him.
So why was I walking right into trouble? Or was I only imagining trouble? James was flirty, yes, but he’d made his views on relationships clear, and he’d made no real moves on me. Maybe in this case, a drink was just a drink. Or maybe he wanted to seduce me.
&n
bsp; Or maybe – and this seemed most likely – I was a severely out-of-practice forty-year-old mother who hadn’t seen herself as a sex kitten for almost two decades, and was very confused by the sudden appearance of an attractive man in her life.
He let us both into his room. It was free of blow-up dolls, and there was a wonderful smell of clean man coming from the shower. Even better, the lighting was low enough for me not to worry about how much my bottom spread across the bed when I sat down. I’d spent the last six weeks comparing my body – pretty unfavourably – to that of a nineteen-year-old exotic dancer. If by any remote chance this did get sexual, I was probably going to have to ask James to wear a blindfold. And not in a kinky way.
James cracked open the champagne and poured it for us. He passed my drink to me, the bubbles fizzing over the rim, then pulled his chair up close. He was facing me, and our knees touched each time one of us moved.
‘Sorry it’s the glasses we’re supposed to keep our toothbrushes in,’ he said, ‘and I can’t promise it’s going to taste that good, as it seems to have been made in Slovakia…but cheers anyway!’
We clinked glasses and drank. And looked at each other. And looked at each other some more. There was more fizz inside me than in the champagne, and the excitement of not knowing what was going to happen next threatened to rise up and smother me. I felt like I was sixteen again – but even more nervous. Did I want anything to happen between us? Should I make a move? Did he even fancy me, or was I having a Simon-inspired breakdown? The answer to all of it was ‘no bloody idea’.
James was wearing a white polo shirt that hung loosely over his jeans. I could imagine leaning forward and slipping my hands under it, tracing the muscles in his tummy, running them up and over his chest, stroking his nipples until they were rigid. Then sliding them all the way back down again to see what else was getting hard…
‘What are you thinking? You look miles away,’ he said.
‘Ummm…nothing. You don’t want to know,’ I answered.
‘Well, I’ll tell you what I was thinking,’ he said, reaching forward to take the glass out of my hand, ‘I was thinking about how beautiful you look. And about how much I want to lie you back on that bed, climb on top of you, and kiss you till you can’t think straight. I know you’re just out of a relationship, and I know you’re confused, but there’s no use pretending it’s not on my mind. That it hasn’t been on my mind since I first met you.’
Oh Lord. I suppose that answered at least one of my questions. He did fancy me. My brain might be perplexed by that – but my body had no doubt about how to react.
Even the thought of James on top of me had my pulse-points pounding. I could feel the pressure rising inside without him laying a finger on me. It was like we’d indulged in a week’s worth of foreplay already, and my sex-starved body was ready to rumble. I hadn’t been touched by another man for seventeen years, and suddenly I was desperate for it.
He edged forward and my knees parted without me telling them to, until one rock-hard thigh was wedged firmly between mine. I wanted to push closer and rub myself up against him. I was fairly throbbing with the need to, but I was frozen still with nerves.
He reached out to touch my knees, then ran his hands slowly, inch by inch upwards, pushing back my skirt as he went. He came to rest with his thumbs tracing sensual patterns on the soft flesh of my inner thighs. I was desperate for him to go further, to slip his fingers inside my knickers, then inside me. I thought I might collapse in a puddle if he didn’t, and I completely forgot to breathe while I waited.
I slid forward a fraction to let him know what I wanted.
‘Oh Jesus,’ he muttered, his face as clouded with desire as mine. He was close, staring into my eyes, more intimate than a kiss.
He slid his fingers inside the flimsy material of my pants, stroking slowly up and down. I heard his breathing go ragged when he felt how wet I already was. He eased one long finger inside me, his thumb keeping a gentle rhythmic pressure on just right the spot. I rocked my body to and fro, feeling like I was going to explode into a million pieces any time now.
‘Oh God, don’t stop,’ I muttered, feeling the heat flushing through me as he intuitively moved faster. My vision was a blur of black and white and nothing at all mattered apart from James and what he was doing to me. If he stopped, I’d cry, I knew I would. There was so much need in me, so much passion trying to fight its way out. I was on the very edge of what I suspected was going to be the best orgasm of my life, given to me with hardly any effort by a man I barely knew. None of which mattered – all that mattered was how good it felt.
It felt so good, in fact, that I was starting to hallucinate – I could have sworn that I could hear music in the background. Maybe a celestial choir serenading my forty-year-old sexual awakening. Or possibly – in fact definitely – my mobile phone, trilling the William Tell overture and vibrating away on James’s dresser.
Slowly, groggy with lust, I came back to the real world.
‘My phone, that’s my phone,’ I said.
‘Just leave it, Sally,’ he answered huskily, still intent on bringing the matter at hand to its hopefully glorious conclusion.
I sighed, pulled away from him and straightened down my skirt. The phone carried on insisting I answer it, and I had to – it could have been one of the kids needing me. The disappointment was shocking, as the waves of pleasure washed away from my body and I was left sitting there in disarray and disappointment. I felt like weeping.
James nodded his understanding – he had a child too, he knew where I was coming from. Not that I was coming at all, sadly.
He passed me the phone and sat back, breathing hard with frustration, as I answered it with shaking hands. I could see from the sizeable bulge in his jeans that he had a few withdrawal symptoms to deal with as well.
‘Hello! Sally Sweets!’ shouted the voice on the other end.
Un-fucking-believably, it was Simon. Using the nickname he’d had for me back in college, which I hadn’t heard in years.
‘Simon?’ I said. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be in Ibiza?’
James heard the name, looked up, and made eye contact with me. What the hell was I supposed to do? Hang up? Throw it out the window? Tell Simon to piss off because I had a blow job to deliver? James saved me making the decision by getting up and heading, diplomatically, to the bathroom.
‘I am in Ibiza! And it’s beautiful! But I just wanted to call and tell you happy birthday, and tell you I love you! And I love the kids! And I love that man on the beach who gave me a bottle of water when I was really thirsty!’
‘Simon, are you on drugs?’ I asked. I could hear the sounds of blowing whistles and a pounding bass line in the background.
‘I don’t know, Sally! I might be! But I feel really good…and I know it’s the end of your birthday, but I think I’m just in time! I love you!’
The line went dead. Simon loved me. How nice. He loved me so much, he’d even forgotten what day my birthday was on. And for that charade of a conversation, I’d pulled back from the brink of mind-blowing pleasure? I was not happy at all.
I stood up. Pulled my skirt down. Glanced in the mirror. I didn’t look like I’d been interfered with. I could manage the walk of shame back to my room without anyone guessing what had been going on – apart from Miss McTavish, of course. She was probably outside, dangling a spy camera through the window right now.
James came back in. He was sipping from a bottle of water. His hair was all ruffled up and he was still slightly flushed. His jeans had returned to their natural state, though, which was probably a lot more comfortable for him.
He rubbed his hands over his face, and shook his head in disbelief.
‘Saved by the bell, eh?’ he said. He was right. I was thinking exactly that. I wasn’t ready for this, for any of it. When it was happening, it felt spine-tinglingly good. But what about after?
I’d never been a casual sex kind of girl. Maybe I should be turning over a new l
eaf and shagging my way round Britain now I was single, but this wasn’t the time to start. And James wasn’t the person to start with – I liked him too much. I couldn’t stand being another of the women on his subs’ bench, no matter how much I’d enjoy playing ball with him. I was just too fragile.
Plus it seemed that Simon saying he loved me could still make me sad, and happy, and confused, all at the same time. Even if it was a drugged-up half-hearted display of affection, I knew I wasn’t quite ready to put Dr Bollocks completely behind me yet.
Now James wasn’t touching me, I could think more clearly. Feel more clearly. He might have got the day wrong, but I was obviously still on Simon’s mind. Even out there in Ibiza with Monika, he’d been thinking of me. His Sally Sweets. He hadn’t forgotten – and despite the mind-altering pleasure of a few moments ago, Simon was still my husband. The father of my kids. The man I’d been planning on spending the rest of my life with.
He still had more of a hold on me than anyone else, even if I’d misplaced that idea in the momentary madness with James. If Simon remembered me tonight, if he remembered Sally Sweets and all the good times we’d had together, maybe he’d remember that he should be home. With us.
‘Yeah,’ I said, smiling at him sadly. ‘Saved by the bell. I’m going to head back to my room, James – thanks for…er…thanks for…’
‘It was my pleasure,’ he said, grinning, ‘almost. Would you like me to walk you?’
‘No, I’ll be fine. Frankly I need a bit of time to cool off. See you tomorrow?’
‘Yes, see you tomorrow. And Sally? Happy birthday.’
Chapter 19
I woke up disgustingly early the next morning. I’d had a difficult night, full of disjointed dreams in acid-trip Technicolor. James was kissing me and my head fell off. Then Simon appeared and the two of them started playing keepy-uppy with it. Lucy was in goal, wearing her school uniform, flicking my head away with a mermaid’s tail. As my head was being kicked around, my eyes were open and I was watching it all flying past me.
The Birthday That Changed Everything Page 10