by Adele Parks
Lee Mahony. Her most passionate encounter. That’s how she’d always referred to him when on the rare occasions she’d spoken of him to her girlfriends over the years. That’s how she labelled him in her head, if ever he popped in there. She’d met him at a health care convention, years and years ago. The convention had been in Edinburgh. Many of her colleagues had seen the three-day event as nothing other than an excuse to try out a few decent malt whiskies or to stock up on cutprice cashmere jumpers. Nat resented their attitude and thought them immature. She had fully expected to attend every one of the modules and had signed up to listen to as many guest speakers as she could squeeze in. She considered the black tie welcome dinner (the highlight of the conference as far as most delegates were concerned) a bit of a time waster. She would have preferred to stay in her room reading up on myasthenia gravis, a little known autoimmune neuromuscular disorder, until she saw the seating plan and noticed that Professor Hans Coperberg, probably the world’s most influential and controversial neuroscientist, was to be seated on the table right next to hers. She hoped to collar him over coffees, when most people were slipping off to the dance floor; she was sure someone as eminent and serious as Professor Coperberg would not strut his funky stuff.
The evening didn’t pan out the way she planned.
Nat hadn’t been able to get her nose out of the fascinating report on myasthenia gravis and so was late down to dinner. By the time she’d walked into the hotel dining room, it was clear that the majority of the delegates had enjoyed their fair share of cava cocktails. Daft, drunken men stood in self-conscious packs sneakily eyeing up women who were already laughing too loudly and indiscriminately. Nat blamed the black ties. Putting on a dinner jacket seemed to encourage every man into thinking that he was as irresistible and irresponsible as James Bond and convince every woman it was her patriotic duty to lie down and think of England. Nat prided herself on the fact that she was above such flights of fancy. She never mixed business with pleasure; which serious person did? It had therefore been especially annoying to her to notice that Professor Coperberg was lining up shots for his table. Disappointed, Nat found her table and name plate and sat down quickly. She planned to eat and retreat, asap.
He had been the first person she noticed. He had been the only person she noticed.
‘I’m Lee Mahony, your future husband,’ he’d said, leaning to reach for her hand. She politely held out hers but instead of shaking it, he’d held it to his lips and kissed her fingers. Right there, right then, in the middle of the table, in the middle of the conference. Was he insane? The touch of his lips on the ends of her fingers had set off a firecracker of excitement in her knickers. Twenty-four-year-old Natalie Morgan had never experienced anything as brutally, brilliantly sexy before.
‘Future husband, you say?’ she mumbled.
‘You can road-test me first. We’ll have a drink and then get to bed early, eh?’ His soft Irish lilt almost made his suggestion sound reasonable. Before Nat had been able to decide whether she was offended or delighted, Lee Mahony chuckled. ‘Ah, getaway with you. I’m just laughing. I would never proposition a girl without knowing her name first. My ma brought me up well. What are you called?’
‘Natalie Morgan.’
‘Fine name,’ he asserted, in what was a charming, irresistible tone. ‘Want a drink? Wine? Red?’ He was already pouring. Up until then Nat had always drunk white wine spritzers but she didn’t say so.
Nat could still remember the way they flirted. It had been so audacious and exciting and blatant and brightening. They had moved up to his room before the pudding was served; they’d had sex before the band struck up a chord. All thoughts of collaring Professor Coperberg and quizzing him on his latest published paper had vanished from Nat’s mind. Nat and Lee had sex for three solid days, punctuated by hilarious, shallow banter, six meal breaks and a spot of daytime TV watching. In a rare moment of indulgence and escapism, Nat rejected the convention programme and embraced the most fun she’d had, ever. They enjoyed the sort of sex that only strangers, living for the moment, can enjoy. It was wild, free, experimental and finite. Lee Mahony lived in Dublin and Nat lived in London, neither of them contemplated making the liaison last beyond the conference. Nat always believed theirs was such a passionate, tremendous encounter because it was left like a cliffhanger. They would never know what was next. They would never back way from the edge or plunge to their deaths. It had been beautiful, unfinished business that could only remain beautiful if it remained unfinished. Some years later Lee had moved to London and on doing so he had looked Nat up at her office. Whether he’d called looking for a bit of fun or with a view to developing a relationship, Nat never found out. She was seeing Neil by then and had found it easy enough to resist what had previously been irresistible. She’d moved on and had no desire to peek back over her shoulder. Until now.
A few weeks ago Nat had Googled Lee Mahony. He had been easy to track down. His quick mind and easy confidence had ensured a glittering career in the health sector. Plus his anarchic humour and ability to charm meant that he had an intriguing and informative Facebook site. Nat had read one or two articles about his recent work and then she’d sent him an email. They’d arranged to meet tonight, but Alison’s dinner party had put an end to that plan. After her numerous fruitless meetings with her exes and last night’s traumatic meeting with Alan Jones, Nat had wondered whether she ought to stay well away from her past but now that Alison had announced she was pregnant, Nat suddenly felt in need of a bit of indulgence and escapism and Lee was perfect for that. Of course she had no intention of sleeping with the man. God forbid! She didn’t mean that sort of indulgence and escapism, the sort they’d had before. No, she just wanted to relax, flirt and have a bit of fun. So Nat had sneaked off to Ali and Tim’s downstairs loo (fully furnished with scented candles and spare rolls) and texted back that, yes, she was free next Tuesday and looking forward to seeing him.
What was going on? She’d now been on six ‘dates’ with her exes and while she maintained to herself they were innocent meetings, the fact was, she’d failed to mention them to her husband. Indeed, she’d lied to him about her whereabouts on every occasion. Then tonight she’d discovered that he was regularly attending strip bars and keeping that a secret from her too. How come she hadn’t noticed? And why hadn’t he mentioned it? He’d always maintained those clubs were just a bit of fun. Had they become more than that? Wasn’t he satisfied with her sexually? Probably not, thinking about it. It had been a while. Nat sighed and her tired breath hung around the freezing night air, causing a cloud.
Life wasn’t a race. That was what her mum and dad were always saying to her, and she wanted to believe in the wisdom their age must offer, but if life was a race, even a go-kart race not an Olympic sprint, then she and Neil had just slipped behind on the happily married heat. She knew it and Neil had noticed they were lagging behind too, that was clear enough tonight. While she’d been quiet throughout dinner, leaving the burden of conversation to Jen and Ali, Neil had become motor mouth. He’d asked Ali a million questions about the pregnancy and her plans for the birth, and just about every day after until the kid hit puberty. Nat had noticed Tim was also uncomfortable with Neil’s enthusiasm. Hell, it was understandable as Neil had even asked about the conception; he’d wanted to understand which were the most fertile days in a woman’s cycle. Was he insane? Tim had muttered that he had been under the impression that Ali wasn’t going to make an announcement until they’d had the twelve-week scan. There were risks, he said. Too right, Nat couldn’t agree with him more. Why didn’t people get that? Ever since Ali had blurted her news, Nat had felt a little sick as she always did when she heard someone she loved was pregnant. She couldn’t quite fathom whether this time her nausea was rooted in her usual concern for their health or intensified by the fact that Ali and Tim announcing a pregnancy would inevitably lead to Neil making yet another bid for a baby of his own.
‘Fabulous news about Tim and Alison, he
y? Great. Really brilliant,’ said Neil. He was wearing a sloppy grin, so loose that Nat thought it was poised to slip at any moment. He kicked a can that was lying in the street. Unfortunately it was still half full and instead of enacting the strike that secured the winning penalty in a cup final, beer spilt out and splashed all over Neil’s suede shoes. It wasn’t very cool. They’d known each other too long to care about being cool in front of one another; all Nat was thinking was whether the beer would stain so she was surprised that Neil looked suddenly embarrassed and uncomfortable. Her instinct, as ever, was to make him feel better.
‘Absolutely. Lovely news. You’ll probably get to be godfather,’ she replied, trying to sound bright and cheerful. ‘Wonderful news about Jen and Karl, too,’ she added, hoping to steer the conversation away from baby talk.
‘You think?’ Neil sounded sceptical.
‘Yes,’ Nat replied with an enthusiasm she didn’t really feel. Truthfully, she imagined that they would, in time, be going to Karl’s second wedding, maybe even his third. Statistics said one in three marriages didn’t make it and if that statistic was applied to their gang, then it was clear that Karl, the commitment phobe, was the horse most likely to fall at the first hurdle.
Wasn’t it?
It was probably just the alcohol but suddenly a cold slither of fear darted up and down Nat’s spine. One in three marriages didn’t make it. What if she was wrong about Karl and Jen being in the position of weakest bet? What if she needed to look closer to home? Nat glanced at Neil, bundled up in a winter coat. She suddenly thought of his strong arms, hidden under the thick coat, and she felt a flutter of appreciation. He looked amazing – well, aside from the bruised cheek. Actually, he looked amazing even with the bruised cheek; he looked like a rough and ready hero. He was adorable and still very fanciable but there was something she couldn’t hide from or ignore: he also looked sad. Worn. Tired. He was not happy. She was visiting exes and he was visiting strip joints. He wanted babies and she wanted none of it. Did that sound like a happy marriage?
Suddenly Nat wanted to have sex with Neil. Fast, urgent, healing sex. Thoughts of Michael Young, Alan Jones, Richard Clark, Matt Jackson, Daniel McEwan and Gary something or other swam round her head. Those men were smug, or gay, or dim or even very decent and lovely but just not her Neil. Suddenly, Nat wanted to grab hold of Neil very firmly and hold so, so tightly because she felt that perhaps Neil was slipping through her grip. She looked at Neil and knew that she loved him so much it hurt. A vicious, wrenching pain that she recognised. It was the pain of knowing something you have might not always be yours. Panicked and breathless, she wanted to exorcise that fear.
‘Come on.’ She tugged at his sleeve and started to run, yes, actually run up the high street towards home.
‘What?’ he asked, confused. Why was Nat running? It was icy and they were drunk. She might slip and fall. There was so much about her behaviour that was just plain odd at the moment.
‘You’ll see,’ she called back over her shoulder. She wanted to shout out, ‘I want you. I want you!’ But even with lots of alcohol in her system she recognised that doing so would be a bit weirdo. Even though it was late, there were quite a few other people milling around the streets and while most of them were probably drunk too, she realised that some semblance of modesty was appropriate. Her hair was flowing out behind her. The light from the street lamp illuminated her, making her look like a pre-Raphaelite angel. In that second, Neil loved her so much it hurt. A fierce yanking pain that he identified as the pain of knowing something you have is under threat. He just wasn’t sure what was threatening them. Him or her?
31
Her lips were warm and plump against his. Like the time they came home from his birthday celebrations, they were barely through the door before they were grabbing at one another. But this time it was Nat who took the lead. She urgently and incessantly kissed him, with an intensity that had been notably lacking of late. She ran her hands across and around his body as he closed the door behind them, blocking out the cold night. This time her mind did not inadvertently wander to calculations about whether they could manage a quickie, drink a pint of water and then still get to bed for about half past twelve; this time she stayed in the moment. She repeatedly kissed him. Hard and possessively. Neil was taken aback, but he was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He saw that this was the opportunity he needed. He kissed her back, cautiously at first, eyes open and staring at her, unsure where this passion had come from. But then he did, and always had, found her irresistible and soon started to return her deep and focused kisses.
His robust, tremendous response surprised her. It had been a long time since they’d kissed in such an adult and blatantly sexual way. Recently they’d settled for pecks on cheeks and foreheads and even if they had kissed one another’s lips, it had been chaste to the point of cool.
It was astonishing to them both to register that they’d managed to have sex on loads of occasions over the years without igniting this particular needy, desperate and awesome wanting. Their kisses were as unpredictable and interesting as a first kiss between strangers but at the same time as sensual and assured as a kiss between age-old lovers. They fell back on the stairs and scrambled on all fours up them, not concerned about how silly or exposed this animal scamper made them appear. Once in the bedroom, Neil firmly pushed Nat back on the bed, then she hurriedly snatched at the belt on her dress as he yanked his T-shirt off in a messy, overexcited, uncoordinated movement. A quick flash of the smooth flesh of his abs reminded her how delicious he was to look at, to be with, to kiss and to have. How had she forgotten? Even for a short time? Why had she been wasting hours talking to other men?
Neil pulled open her dress, sending a shard of sexual tension reverberating through her body. He snapped off her skimpy knickers and then pushed his hand inside her bra, cupping her tit and smoothly massaging her nipple between his fingers. His urgency excited and delighted her and she grabbed at his body with an equal resolve and joy. Without completely leaving her (one hand was still clasped firmly to her tit), he edged over to the bedside drawer and in a familiar move he opened the drawer and reached around for a condom.
‘Damn. None left. Hang on a minute, I think there’s one in the bathroom.’ Neil leapt from the bed and headed off to the bathroom.
Nat slipped out of her bra so that she was completely naked and lay back on the cool sheets. She tingled with happiness and gratitude. Hurrah, he hadn’t ruined the moment by suggesting they have sex without protection. Yes, everything was perfect! She felt it. Or at least felt it could be again. They’d ride each other hard now and afterwards, straight afterwards, they’d talk about strippers and naked friends. They’d laugh at each other’s foibles and get right back on track. She was sure of it.
Then he was back and without further delay he sank deep inside her. He thrust, pushed, scalded, seized and pulled, and she moaned, groaned, cried and yelped with a vivid and vital mix of desire and agony. It was frantic, rapid and staggering. Their lips meshed as they kissed deeply and forcefully. They could not identify where they each began and ended. For the first time in a long while they were as one. There were no unnerving silences or suspicious moments. There was no blame, guilt or threat. Her body accepted him as it had done many, many times before and he was willingly swallowed. They held one another’s bodies and gazes. It was refreshingly shocking. It was critical. It was true. She sighed and shuddered. He moaned and shivered.
‘Yes, yes, don’t stop. Oh God.’ She came.
‘Oh, yes, more, more. Yes, Cindy!’
The name fell like a bomb from the sky. He paused, stranded in the moment when the only sound is the high-pitched whine as the bomb plummets towards its target. This was the whistling moment, before it detonates, when all anyone can do is steel themselves against the inevitable damage. Neil was paralysed. Of course he had not released the bomb on purpose, it was more like the stupidly named ‘friendly fire’, lethal, sickening, meaningless.
He did not think to carry on muttering endearments, perhaps trying to interchange Cindy’s name for his wife’s in a vain attempt to pass off the word Cindy for Natalie; he did not possess the required amount of poise or cunning. Besides, he was swimming in a lusty stupor that caused a delay in his reactions. He wasn’t in his right senses; that was why the wrong name had seeped out in the first place.
Neil felt Nat scramble from under him, her knees and elbows jabbed him as she squirmed away. He did not protest or try to pull her back to bed. He did not mutter that calling another woman’s name did not mean what it seemed to mean. He watched her hurriedly pull on her bathroom robe and clasp it tightly around her.
‘Who the fuck is Cindy?’ she screamed, turning on him.
‘She’s a – she’s no one,’ he replied hopelessly.
‘Who is she?’ Nat demanded again.
‘A friend.’
‘A friend whose name you call out when you are making love to me? You bastard!’ Nat felt as if she was starring in a low-budget film. Her husband had just called out another woman’s name while they were making love. What did that mean? Of course it could only mean one thing. Why was she even asking what it meant? It was obvious. She swooped down and picked up Neil’s jeans and T-shirt from the floor. She hurled them at him. Her action finally jarred him out of his stupor; he lifted his arms to protect his face from the accidental whip of his belt.