by Shaw, O. C
As I walk towards the entrance to the gym I automatically scan the car park, looking for the Mercedes. I can’t see it, and my spirits flag immediately. I slump my shoulders and throw my stuff down in the changing room, swiftly changing out of my work clothes, keen to get on with the workout.
I am in dire need of some shopping time – my clothes are now hanging off me because of my weight loss, which has only accelerated while I haven’t seen James. I can’t summon any sort of appetite at the moment, Greg is starting to give me a hard time about it at home and Annie and Emma have independently of each other asked if I’m eating enough. I step out of the changing room, totally miss the step and fall forwards, smacking my head on the pot plant to the side. Pete happens to be using the equipment close by, sees me and comes running over to see if I’m okay, but I’m too stunned for a moment and can’t speak. He puts his arm around me and tries to help me to my feet, which proves to be more of a challenge than you might think. I have eventually managed to stand, leaning heavily on Pete, and am finally able to take in the extent of the witnesses to my most recent humiliation, only to look straight into a pair of very angry-looking bright blue eyes.
I think I actually gasp, and my legs give way again. James moves faster than Pete, sweeping in and lifting me into his arms, casting a throwaway comment over his shoulder to Pete, who is left just standing there gaping at us.
“Don’t worry, mate, I’ve got her now,” he says as he makes his way to the reception desk, where Stuart watches our approach with a bemused expression on his face.
“I swear to God, Lily, I’ve never restocked the first-aid kit so many times in the whole time I’ve worked here, as I have since you joined,” Stuart says. “I’ve actually booked onto a refresher first aid course next week just because I’m terrified what you might do next. I think you’re going to have a lump the size of an egg on your head from that wallop, I’ll go and get the ice pack.”
He disappears into the back office, leaving James and me sitting on the chairs by reception. I am gazing at him like I can’t believe he’s really here. I’m dying to touch him, and my hand actually moves towards his face before I realise where I am and what I’m doing. James is looking at me with a bemused expression on his face.
“I’m sorry,” I eventually manage to say.
“So you should be,” he says, his voice sounding gruff. “I’m very angry with you.”
I’m taken aback by his directness and pull away from him, feeling mortified, but he grabs my arm and pulls me back into his chest, looking at me intently before continuing: “I don’t know what to be more angry about, actually; the fact you just managed to fall over and injure yourself again – I swear to God, Lily, you are not safe to leave on your own; the fact you look like you haven’t eaten since the last time I saw you or the fact that the first time I do see you in days, there is another man holding you in his arms.”
I’m confused for a moment until I realise he means Pete, which makes me smile. “I promise you, Lily, if you hadn’t collapsed and needed me to catch you, I was about to punch his lights out for putting his hands on you,” he growls, and my heart soars to hear it. Stuart returns with the ice pack and effectively puts an end to our discussion, but I can’t get rid of the happy smile that seems to be occupying my face for the first time since I last saw James. I can only imagine Stuart thinks I’m concussed. The pair of them sit there discussing my catalogue of my mishaps since they met me, while I hold the ice pack to my head, and for once I don’t care; I’m just basking in the pleasure of being near him again.
“I don’t think you should work out today, Lily,” Stuart is saying. “This lump is huge. If you get any nausea or feel sleepy at all, you really need to go to the hospital and get it checked out.”
James swiftly agrees, offering to see me home if I get my stuff from the changing room. I jump at the chance to be alone with him again. Pete rushes over when he sees me leaving to check I’m okay, and I giggle when I catch sight of James scowling at Pete as he waits for me by the door. I spend a couple of minute explaining I’m fine, just not in the mood to work out with the thumping headache I have now, and mentioning James has offered to drive me home. He takes a quick look at the glowering James at the door and swiftly excuses himself, wishing me well. Poor Pete, I think, he’s continually being scowled at by the men in my life.
When we are finally in the car alone together, James turns to me. “Do you mind if we take a little detour before I take you home? Are you feeling well enough?”
“I feel fine. I, I’d like that,” I say. He drives for about ten minutes and pulls into a gated driveway in one of the best roads in the area. I just know this has to be his house as I take in the enormous lump of property. Our different circumstances couldn’t be more obvious, I realise as I gaze at my surroundings. He stops the car and immediately pulls me into his arms, pressing his lips gently to my own. He’s so gentle, as if he’s worried he might hurt me. My hands move into his hair, holding him to me as I breathe the essence of him in again like an alcoholic let into a pub for the first time since they got out of rehab.
“Come on,” he says, “let me make you a coffee.” He jumps out of the car, waiting for me to join him, and then leads me into the house. I can hardly look at the surroundings now; I can’t seem to take my eyes off him, and I think he’s the same with me. He puts the coffee machine on, and we sit beside each other, touching whenever possible, drinking each other in with our eyes as we wait for the coffee to brew.
“I’m sorry,” I say again finally.
“Don’t be. I understand,” he says gently. “Tell me what happened.”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly, “the day we had was so beautiful. The time I spent with you was such a contrast to my normal life,” I try to explain. “I just couldn’t see how it could continue when I got home and tried to get on with normality. I decided I couldn’t think about leaving Greg because I knew he couldn’t survive without me. I thought I could push my own needs away, that I was being selfish, but I didn’t realise how deep my feelings are. I couldn’t just push my thoughts of you away. Every time he touches me, I only know it’s not you, and I want it to be you.” I sob slightly, terrified he’ll reject me.
“Oh, Lily,” he says, pulling me to his chest, “I don’t want him to touch you either. It kills me to think of him with you. We will find a way through this, I have to believe we can,” he says fiercely. He kisses me then, and I am lost to him once more. My memories of him were not a patch on the reality. My body responds instantly, and I only know I want him. I start to pull at his clothes, desperate to feel the touch of his skin. He’s doing the same, his hand reaching up under my gym top to grasp my breast through my sports bra. It’s still not enough for me. I don’t want to waste time, I just want to feel him inside me, and I reach for his fly to release him.
“Are you sure you’re well enough?” he gasps while I bend to remove my leggings. I don’t speak, just move to his chair and climb onto his lap. I raise myself up until I am high enough to enable him access. There is no preamble, and I don’t need it. I’ve been wet and wanting him since I got in the car. In one slow move he pulls me down onto him, and I groan in satisfaction when I feel him filling me entirely.
“You are mine, Lily, you will only be mine,” he tells me again and again as he moves within me, and in that moment I believe him. He kisses me then, and it feels as if we are joined, as if we are becoming one person. I think if I could crawl inside his body, I would probably try.
His thrusts become more urgent as he holds my hips and moves me above him – I can feel he is staking his claim, and I’m glad, I want him to. I don’t want anyone else to touch me. The realisation thrills me, and I come whispering the words I have been holding back from him, “I love you”, and I do. It seems to push him over the edge too, as he thrusts against me the last few times before spilling into me. We sit there for a few moments, me straddling his lap with him still inside me, trying to catch our breath,
until he pulls back slightly looks at me directly in the eye and says:
“I love you too.”
Chapter 27
We reassemble ourselves eventually, and he finally makes the coffee he promised. We sit looking at each other in silence for a while, both maybe realising that somehow we have tipped over into something new now, something more profound and meaningful than the sexual relationship I thought I was having at first. I know I have some tough decisions to make, but the last few days have shown me I can’t just pretend I haven’t changed at some fundamental level. It is impossible to go back to the way I was before, so now I have to move forward and make decisions about what that direction should be.
“How’s your head?” he asks, looking intently at the bump on my forehead. A trip to the bathroom had shown me it was massive and I was going to be subjected to continual ridicule for the next week or so as a result. It actually doesn’t hurt too badly now.
“It’s fine,” I smile. “Nice place,” I say, finally taking in my surroundings. The kitchen breakfast room we are sitting in is nearly as large as the whole ground floor of our house and fitted with every kind of appliance you can imagine.
“Thanks,” he says, and I see him grimace. “We need to talk,” he says, and he seems uncomfortable.
“I know,” I say, unable to shake the feeling that I don’t think I’m going to like what he has to say. I look at my watch and realise I have already been gone for nearly three hours. I really need to get home. I also want to get my own head straight before we talk. “I want to talk too, but I don’t think now’s the right time. I need to get back, but I want to see you… if that’s still okay with you?”
“More than okay. In fact, I insist,” he smiles. “You need to know, I meant what I said Lily. This means something important to me. I’m not going anywhere; I need you in my life.” He runs his fingers through his hair like he’s anxious, and I immediately want to soothe him. I stand up and move to him, cupping his face gently in my hands as I kiss him, before pulling back.
“I know, and I feel the same. I’ll text you some times, and we can talk then. It’ll be okay, we’ll be okay,” I say with certainty.
He nods, and we kiss again before he takes me back to his car. I insist he drive me back to the gym so I can collect my own car; I feel fine to drive now, and it will just be easier than having to find my way back to pick it up some other time. James seems quieter since we spoke at the house. I understand; we have passed a significant point in our relationship in such a very short time, and yet somehow I feel like he’s weaved himself into my DNA. It’s both scary and exciting, but I know we have some difficult times ahead, whatever we decide to do.
We don’t kiss when we get to the car park in case someone sees us, but he holds my hand, and everything I need is right there in his eyes.
“I’ll text you,” I promise again. He just nods and squeezes my hand tighter.
Alone in my car after I leave him, I realise how bad I have it. When I am away from him now, it feels as though there is a huge hole in my life; it’s almost physically cold without him beside me. On the plus side I’m actually feeling stronger mentally now. I feel like I have finally made some decisions, that I am taking control of my own destiny, whatever the outcome. I know with complete certainty I love James, and whatever the outcome of our relationship, I can only rejoice in the love both physical and emotional he has shown me it is possible to have. I also know Greg and my marriage do not give me those things. I may have once loved him, but that changed to duty and responsibility a long time ago, and now that is no longer enough for me. As selfish as it may seem to many people, now the boys are independent, I want more from my life. I know I will need to end my marriage whatever happens with James and me. It is not fair to deceive Greg, and for the first time it feels as though Greg will have the strength to stand on his own feet in life, giving me permission to go. My sense of responsibility made me feel I needed to look after Greg too, but now that his career is on the up he will need me less.
The last thing I know is that it is time for me to be independent. I need to be able to do this on my own and not rely on James for the strength. It is too soon to put that responsibility on him or our burgeoning relationship. The decision about my marriage has to be about me and Greg alone. Having made those decisions, I feel empowered and somehow excited. I know it can’t happen overnight, I need to give Greg the chance to spread his wings, but I sense it will be soon.
When I get home Greg is in his shed as ever, so I sit down to write for the evening. The most difficult part of the decisions I have made is I know I don’t want sex with Greg again. I don’t want to be used in that way, so intimately. It is too precious to give that part of me to someone without the right emotional connection. I can’t allow my body to be used that way. I know it will be hard, and Greg won’t understand, but in the short term I determine to spend the nights writing. Greg is so distracted with his work at the moment we are barely having sex anyway, so it shouldn’t be too big an issue before I tell him of my decision. I figure I probably have a couple of months in which to organise myself and think about how we will part, where I will go, how I will live. Greg will hate me, and I know I will probably deserve his hatred, but I hope we can move beyond it and find friendship again in the future, mostly for the sake of the boys. Perhaps I’m being selfish wanting the best of both worlds.
*********
The next week passes quickly, and before I really know where I am, it is the evening of the gallery event. Greg is nervous, and Ethan and I are walking on eggshells around him, not wanting to make him worse. I have spoken to James every day since we last saw each other, and we text each other several times a day, but we haven’t managed to sort out a date to meet. I told him I wanted to get the gallery evening over first, but I can tell he’s getting impatient with me now. I dress carefully for the evening in a new black pencil skirt with an emerald green silk blouse that plunges lower than my usual and shows off my impressive cleavage. I still haven’t bought myself any hair straighteners, but I manage to control my frizzy mop into some more orderly curls for once. The overall effect when I don my heels is pleasing, despite the purple bruise that’s still in evidence on my forehead. The small amount of mascara and lip gloss I am wearing distract from it a little at least. I can finally admit to myself, as I take in my reflection in the mirror, that I look slim – I actually never thought I would see the day where I really believed that about myself. I look at my watch and realise the taxi is due any minute. Greg has already gone to the gallery to help set up and be there for the early guests, while Ethan and I are coming along a bit later for moral support. Emma has also promised to pop in, despite the fact she is getting close now to her due date. I make my way carefully down the stairs, endeavouring not to trip and add to my collection of bruises. Ethan hears me coming and gets up from the settee where he’s been watching television while waiting for me. He looks shocked as he takes in my appearance.
“Do I look okay?” I ask anxiously, worried his expression means I look like mutton dressed as lamb.
“You look great, mum. I’m shocked to say you actually look hot.” I blush, taken aback by this unexpected compliment. “I’m not sure I can cope with my mum being attractive,” he adds. “I certainly don’t think dad will be able to.” His comment sours my mood slightly and makes me worry Greg won’t like it, but it’s too late to change now.
“Come on,” I insist, dragging him behind me out the door to where the taxi is waiting. Because Greg took the car, Ethan and I can at least have a drink. “You look nice too, by the way,” I add as we get in and give directions for where we’re going.
“Feels like I’m going to work,” he grumbles, and I can see why because he’s dressed in his work trousers and a white shirt. “Sarah might pop in tonight,” he mentions offhandedly.
“Your girlfriend Sarah?” I say surprised. He’s been keeping her at arm’s length from Greg and me, so she must be serious.
&nbs
p; “The very one,” he confirms.
“Well, it’ll be nice to meet her at last.”
“Please don’t embarrass me, mum,” he groans. “I really like her.”
“Give me some credit; I wouldn’t dream of it,” I reply, trying not to show my amusement at how anxious he is at the prospect of his girlfriend meeting his mum. It also makes me feel incredibly old.
When we pull up outside the gallery we can see a good crowd has already arrived, and we are relatively late. I can see Greg chatting to a group of people, smiling and laughing. It’s amazing to see the transformation in him. I’m glad he’s happy. Ethan helps me out the car and pays the driver, and we make our way inside. I spot Annie instantly, as she’s hard to miss, and she makes her way over as soon as she is able. Ethan’s eyes nearly fall out of his head when he takes her in. I distract him by asking him to fetch us all something to drink; it’s easier than having to avoid trying to maintain a conversation while he stands there gawping at Annie.
“How’s it going?” I ask Annie.
“Really, really well,” she assures me. “Everyone loves his work. I keep telling you it’s really good – have you even looked at it recently?” she asks. In truth I haven’t, and I tell her as much. It’s different when you live with an artist somehow.
“He’s already sold several pieces,” she tells me, and I’m shocked.
“Well, that’s good isn’t it?” I ask.
“That’s excellent; not all the others have,” she says, pointing out some of the others who are stood in smaller clusters. When Ethan finally rejoins us with three drinks in hand, we make our way over to Greg. He is surrounded by people as we approach him. He looks up and frowns as he notices us. I sense he’s reluctant to be disturbed by us, wanting to immerse himself in his role as artist, not be dragged back to the humdrum husband-and-father existence. In the past I might have found it hurtful, but now I understand. I’m actually happy for him. We wait patiently, chatting together and laughing at some of the more eccentric characters around while he finishes with the current group. Eventually he comes over.