Just for the Holidays

by Sue Moorcroft

  Jordan dropped to the grass.

  Curtis ground out one more chin-up, then did the same, rubbing the sting from his hands. ‘Do you think she’ll stop us hanging out?’ He dropped down beside Natasha.

  Natasha looked horrified. ‘Why? Has she said that to you, Jordan?’

  Jordan shrugged, moodily. ‘No. Shut up.’

  ‘Why don’t you?’ demanded Curtis, too outraged at the hurt in Natasha’s eyes to consider whether it was wise to antagonise the older boy. ‘Earth to Jordan, some big brothers are nice to their sisters.’

  Jordan flushed and turned to Natasha with an elaborate show of patience, as if it was Curtis disrupting a perfectly good conversation. ‘Mum’s invited Curtis round for this crappy quiz thing tonight, hasn’t she?’

  Deciding not to push his luck with further hostility Curtis wrinkled his brow. ‘Yeah. What’s with that? Does she do this stuff because she’s a teacher?’

  ‘Not usually.’ Jordan snorted. ‘But nothing’s usual any more.’

  Curtis checked out Natasha’s expression. Jordan’s words had brought new uncertainty to her face. Trusting his movements were hidden in the longish grass, he put a comforting hand close to hers. ‘But she’s not going to get together with the boyfriend, so that’s good, right? You don’t have to worry about living with him.’

  ‘There’s still the baby though.’ Natasha shifted so that her delicate pinky finger rested against Curtis’s much bigger hand.

  ‘The shit ache baby,’ Jordan agreed. He levered himself forward on his elbows to peer around Curtis. Curtis quickly shifted his hand. Jordan snorted again. ‘I have noticed you two, you know! You don’t have to freaking pretend. You’re both twats. You deserve each other.’ But he was grinning now, without the horrible hard look he got when he was giving out shit ache.

  Curtis let his fingers overlap Natasha’s again. ‘Twat yourself.’ It wasn’t the world’s greatest comeback but he felt as if he and Natasha had passed some kind of coolness threshold at which Jordan was the gatekeeper.

  Jordan went on to prove he hadn’t had a personality transplant, though. ‘You look well odd together. Hannah Montana meets Nightwish.’

  Curtis felt incredibly flattered at being likened to one of his favourite Goth bands and though Natasha instantly objected, ‘Hannah Montana’s way more blonde than me,’ she looked pleased, too. Then she looked thoughtful. ‘Mum won’t let me get piercings or Goth gear but I could wear the black lipstick again.’

  ‘You don’t have to.’ Curtis wasn’t sure what impact black lipstick might have on his kissing plans.

  A smile stole across her face. ‘I’ve just thought of something better.’

  Leah waited until she was alone with Alister in the kitchen before asking him how he was. He looked up from his now familiar post in the armchair with his foot up and his laptop humming. ‘Do you mean “How’s your leg feeling?” Or “How are you coping with realising that your wife ripped the family apart for an affair that’s dead already?”’

  ‘All of the above,’ she admitted truthfully, heart going out to him at his grim stoicism in the face of pain of all kinds.

  ‘My leg feels as if an elephant jumped on it. As for the other …’ He sighed. ‘I think the elephant gave me a glancing blow to the nuts. But no amount of feeling sorry for myself will change history so I’m consoling myself with the joys of pre-term admin.’

  Alister turned back to his screen with an air of the conversation being over so Leah decided it was kindest to leave him alone. To make the most of not being adult-in-charge at the gîte she took the Porsche out, satisfying her need for speed. The hedges and wildflowers flew past and she wallowed in the hop-skip-jump feeling of knowing she had a great evening ahead. With Ronan. It actually felt like being on holiday.

  As a bonus, on her return she discovered that Michele had prepared lunch for all the family, even Alister, and all Leah had to do was eat. Alister didn’t make a single snarky comment and it was all quite civilised.

  Afterwards, Leah got a bucket and a cloth and was enjoying sluicing the dust from the Porsche and leathering the glowing scarlet paintwork squeaky clean when Ronan’s low voice came from behind her. ‘Beautiful.’

  Leah swung around to find him at the fence, T-shirt and hair dusty. She gave the scarlet paintwork a proud rub. ‘She is, isn’t she?’

  He grinned. ‘The car, too.’ He brought his hands from behind his back, exhibiting a bottle of Fischer beer in each. ‘I’m sick of sanding cabinet doors. Have you worked hard enough to earn a break?’

  ‘Definitely.’ Leah abandoned her wash-leather in her rinsing water.

  He waited while she ran around the fence then led the way to two mismatched garden chairs in his back garden. ‘The kids are all up in Curtis’s room.’

  Leah took a long gulp of the cold, light beer that cut beautifully through the dust in her throat. ‘So we need to behave in case we’re observed.’

  ‘I’m getting way too much practice at behaving.’ He lifted the hem of his T-shirt to wipe sweat from his forehead, giving her a glimpse of the flesh above the waistband of his jeans.

  Leah didn’t pretend she wasn’t looking. ‘But later–’

  His smile was slow. ‘“Later” is very much on my mind.’ Then his attention shifted and both voice and gaze turned abruptly to ice. ‘What on earth?’

  Puzzled, Leah swung around to see Curtis and Natasha standing beside Ronan’s back door.

  With matching dyed-black hair.

  ‘Oh, shit,’ she gasped. The grins on the faces beneath the stark blackness wavered.

  ‘Quite.’ Ronan rose and stalked over to his son. ‘I hope you’re going to tell me that colour’s not permanent.’

  Curtis’s cheeks bloomed angrily. ‘It’s dye, isn’t it?’

  Natasha edged closer to Curtis. ‘We like it.’ Uncertainty made her sound even younger than her years.

  Leah gazed in distaste at Natasha’s usually shining mane, dull and lifeless in the grip of nasty cheap dye. ‘Did it say permanent on the box?’

  ‘Don’t know.’ Natasha sniffed. ‘We got it from the village shop and the instructions were in French.’

  A clatter heralded Alister hopping up to the fence on his crutches, obviously having overheard. ‘Na-tash-a!’ He sounded no happier than Ronan. ‘This is completely unacceptable behaviour.’

  From another direction, Michele marched up to join the scene, halting sharply. ‘Natasha! What on earth were you thinking?’

  Michele, Alister and Ronan began simultaneously to point out the hard truths about school and dyed hair. Alister so far forgot himself as to stigmatise Curtis’s Goth look as a bad influence on Natasha then apologised stiffly to Ronan for the implied criticism of his parenting. Ronan bit out, ‘I understand’ in a voice that suggested he didn’t.

  Leah regarded the two teens at the centre of the storm as they listened, miserably in Natasha’s case and defiantly in Curtis’s. Thoughtfully, she tilted her head. ‘I suppose if we shaved their heads they’d both have an eighth of an inch of naturally coloured hair by the time they went back to school.’

  Everybody stopped arguing in favour of looking appalled. Natasha, whose locks hung down to the small of her back, burst into noisy tears.

  Leah was unmoved. ‘No? Then how about we waste no more time quarrelling and get you to a salon to see if the colour can be stripped out?’

  Curtis put up a half-hearted argument for keeping the dye job at least until it was time to return to school but Ronan snapped ‘Not an option.’

  Against a background of Michele making unhelpful comments about colour stripping turning hair green it was decided Ronan and Leah should take the errant pair into Muntsheim, Ronan because he spoke French and Leah because she couldn’t bear to let Natasha go without the support of a family member, Michele having declared that the chemical smell would make her sick.

  ‘Withdrawal of privilege, Natasha,’ Alister broke in to say. ‘I’m not sure about this quiz night�
�’

  ‘But that won’t be fair on Jordan,’ put in Leah, seeing her lovely evening with Ronan going up in a puff of hair dye. ‘Come on, let’s get going.’

  Soon they were embroiled in the tedious process of locating a salon in Muntsheim and negotiating with staff that had to hide smiles as they consulted the appointment book in order to accommodate emergency colour removal. The colourist explained to Ronan that she had a new product that was efficient … but expensive, and would take the rest of the day. Ronan’s expression progressed from grim to grimmer.

  After a couple of hours of mixing gloop in bowls and working it onto hair, a long job in Natasha’s case, and covering heads with plastic shower caps, the hair turned shocking orange. Natasha began to cry again, which brought the colourist and a shampoo boy fluttering around her with tissues and a glass of iced tea.

  Turning as always to food to improve the situation Leah went out to fetch pastries. Her return route through the plate glass door brought her up behind Curtis and Natasha. With a jolt, she realised that their fingers were linked and Natasha was sending Curtis a watery smile full of trust and adoration.

  Returning to her place beside Ronan in the waiting area, Leah whispered an explanation of what she’d just seen under cover of passing him pain au chocolat. ‘Are they having a thing?’

  ‘Oh, save us,’ Ronan groaned wearily. ‘He’s definitely at the age to discover girls but I really don’t think he should dye them to match his clothes.’

  Leah had to turn her snort of laughter into a cough when two pairs of teenaged eyes swivelled to regard her through the mirror.

  Much washing, protecting and drying later, teen hair had turned pale amber.

  ‘Cool.’ Curtis regarded his reflection with satisfaction.

  But Natasha looked aghast. ‘I look like an orangutan!’

  The colourist returned with a request, routed through Ronan. He turned to Curtis and Natasha. ‘Please find recent photos of yourselves on your phones so this lady can assess your natural look. Then she’ll match the colour as closely as she can.’

  Natasha looked visibly relieved but Curtis hadn’t finished being awkward. ‘I’ll keep this, thanks.’

  ‘Curtis.’ Ronan employed his low scary voice and Curtis, snorting like a bull about to lose its rag, snatched his phone out of one of his many pockets.

  Soon the colourist began again with fresh gloop. The shampoo boy brought Leah and Ronan coffee.

  Ronan checked his watch. ‘We’ll be lucky to be out of here before midnight.’

  Trying to get him to lighten up, Leah whispered, ‘Shame. I was looking forward to finding out if you’d use that impressive growl this evening.’

  ‘If you like it, you can be damned sure I’ll use it,’ he murmured. ‘That’s if we’re ever alone long enough in the eleven days we have left together.’

  Leah spluttered with laughter but she didn’t know whether to be more startled that the days left in France were disappearing so quickly or that Ronan had counted them. She looked at the salon clock. It was already nearly four. Another day was passing fast.

  It was nearer six when they were finally ready to leave, Curtis and Natasha sporting approximations of their natural hair colours, though their tresses were decidedly lacklustre and stiff despite copious conditioning treatments. Ronan and Leah trailed in their wake, stunned at the mammoth damage done to their credit cards.

  ‘Michele and Alistair can reimburse me for that little lot,’ she muttered to Ronan. ‘Above and beyond the role of Deputy Parent.’

  Getting ready that evening, Leah found she was nervous. She smoothed down her dress with slightly damp palms. She’d chosen a simple summer dress – her vampy dresses and killer heels were all in the UK anyway – but put on her make-up because there was ‘simple’ and then there was ‘not trying’. Her hair lay in a newly washed, shining river down her back.

  A perfunctory knock on the salon door and Natasha burst in and threw herself on the bed. ‘Can we be girls against boys in this quiz?’ She’d brushed her hair back into a tight bun, probably operating an ‘out of sight, out of mind’ policy until her parents calmed down a bit over Dyegate.

  Leah gave her a hug. ‘I’m not involved, sweetie. This is something your mum wants to do for you kids.’

  ‘Aw! She won’t mind if you come!’

  Leah managed not to sigh. Having a teenager monitoring you was inhibiting. ‘I’m good, thanks.’

  ‘Are you going to hang with Dad? Or go for a drive?’

  In the face of Natasha’s searchlight gaze Leah gave up trying to keep her plans on the down-low. ‘I said I’d eat with Ronan.’ She tried to make it sound as if of course she’d be in on quiz night if it weren’t for Ronan being desperate for a dining companion.

  Natasha obviously wasn’t fooled. Her eyes danced. ‘He likes you, doesn’t he? Do you like him? Is it going to be a candlelight dinner? Soppy music and champagne?’

  Laughing, Leah hushed her. ‘More like salad with a couple of glasses of plonk and whatever he has on his iPod. He’s invited me over because the rest of you have your own plans.’

  ‘I know, right, but he hasn’t invited Dad.’

  Leah improvised quickly. ‘Your dad’s busy with school admin on his laptop.’

  Natasha laid her head on Leah’s shoulder and sighed. ‘Do Ronan and Curtis live very far away from us in England?’

  Perceiving a change of mood, Leah stroked Natasha’s poor tortured hair, stiff and coarse instead of soft and silky. ‘They live east of London so it’s a couple of hours by car to Bettsbrough.’

  ‘Your car’s very fast so it’s probably less. We could all keep seeing each other.’

  Although Leah had allowed herself the occasional stray thought along those lines, she began, ‘I don’t know, sweetie–’

  Then a voice sounded in the kitchen and Natasha whisked free, face suddenly glowing. ‘Here’s Curtis.’

  In ten minutes Michele had herded the kids off up to the games room, taking much of the contents of the fridge with them, judging by her dry commentary. A fizzing combination of indulgence, liberation and anticipation building, Leah gave them a few minutes to settle and then slipped out of the gîte and through the dewy evening fragrances of grass and roses to Chez Shea.

  The front door stood ajar. Knocking, she stepped tentatively in. ‘Ronan?’

  ‘What took you so long?’ Ronan strode into the hallway and swept her up on her tiptoes against the wall, body warm and hard, lips soft but purposeful as he swung the door shut behind her. Letting her bag drop to the floor she wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back, the heat of him settling low in her belly.

  ‘Mm,’ she managed, after several blissfully uninterrupted minutes of kissing, their stroking hands roving as if to commit each other to memory, ‘smells to me like something’s burning.’

  ‘Crap!’ One last hard kiss and he bolted for the kitchen, leaving her to get herself together and follow, butterfly-fluttery, sloughing off the memory of all Scott’s teasing remarks that this would inevitably go wrong. It felt so right.

  In the kitchen, Ronan ruefully regarded a grill pan of blackened lumps. ‘You didn’t want garlic bread, did you?’

  ‘Never touch it,’ she declared, untruthfully.

  ‘I should have done salad.’ He thrust the smoking pan outside on the paving and closed the back door on the remains. ‘I was trying to resist feeling intimidated by feeding a chef. Sit down and pour the wine and I’ll check whether the pasta’s edible.’

  The pasta proved to be entirely edible, a safe but competent carbonara that went down as easily as the contents of a bottle of crémant. By the end of the meal their legs were entwined beneath the table and Leah was feeling as if her skin hosted microscopic fireworks that went off even at Ronan’s most casual touch.

  ‘I’m kind of waiting for an interruption,’ Ronan admitted, glancing up the hallway, ‘for your phone to go off with your next family emergency or for three teenagers to show up
with their hair dyed green.’

  Leaning in to leave kisses at each corner of his mouth, enjoying his freshly shaved skin against her lips, Leah grinned. ‘My phone’s on silent and Michele promised to provide such good prizes that the kids will be glued to the quiz until at least ten.’

  ‘There are no such prizes.’

  ‘There are. They’re called euros.’

  His eyes crinkled. ‘Then maybe I have faith in her plan.’ He lifted her hand and kissed her fingers, the warmth of his mouth putting a spike in her pulse rate, checked his watch and gathered up their glasses. ‘I don’t do my best seduction in a kitchen.’

  ‘It’s definitely your best seduction I’m looking for.’ Leah laughed huskily, floating on a cushion of happy anticipation as they made their way up the hall.

  His room was at the top of the stairs, its windows open to let the sultry evening breeze filter over his elderly wooden furniture. Curious to see his personal space Leah looked around at the laptop and pot of pens that suggested the dressing table doubled as a desk, the mirrors on the old-fashioned armoire cloudy with age and the king-sized bed that dominated the space.

  Although the window looked out only onto the twilight shadows of the garden and woods beyond, Ronan closed the shutters and lit a lamp before he turned to her. The lamplight sharpened his features with shadows. ‘Let’s take this slowly.’

  Her senses absurdly heightened, she felt as if his body heat touched hers before his skin actually made contact.

  He touched her gently, tracing her cheekbones, the sides of her neck, the dips above her collarbones. His gaze roved from her face to her body, watching as his hands slid down over skin, over fabric, to her breasts.

  Her breath fluttering, she lifted her arms to pull him closer, needing to feel his body against hers. ‘I wasn’t born to be patient.’ His laugh was low as she pressed against his arousal, bunching up the fabric of his shirt, glad that even if France had brought her a lot of hassle and scary moments it had brought her this man to remind her that there was more to life than cars and chocolate. The fire burning in her was better than cars or chocolate, in fact. This man was on the same page as her mentally, physically and emotionally. Like her, he didn’t expect ‘forever’ but intended to savour every moment of ‘now’.