The Way Home

by Simpson, Stefanie

  The producers were clamouring to know what the third book would be and had the early draft of it in the summer, they were happy, but had taken the show in another direction, and she liked what they were doing with it.

  The fourth book was entirely different; Susan found love at last, not torrid affairs, but love. How she would spin that out into the fifth wasn’t going so well, but she was getting there. She kept picking the threads of it apart and putting it back together.

  She hadn’t told him about the fourth one. ‘Susan’s Man’, Em shook off the thought.

  “What are you doing for Christmas?”

  “Nothing.”

  She grinned when he said it.

  Ryan stood in her doorway letting in the freezing wind with a big fuck off Christmas tree.

  “Okay.” She drew the word out, seeing his far too pleased with himself expression as she stepped aside and he dragged it in.

  He helped her decorate it, and she was as lovely as they did it. The dull day was fading, and she had the wood burner blazing, and only one lamp lit. Cap was roasting her paws by the fire, and Em’s hair was dishevelled, long cable cardigan, leggings and t-shirt, nothing special, but at the same time, she was romantic and sweet. He couldn’t stop looking at her.

  She sipped her whisky as she unwrapped the decorations.

  “These were my dad’s.”

  Ryan frowned. “You don’t talk about him much.”

  “We packed everything into the time we had. I drove him to the coast one day because he wanted to see the sea before he died. He used to go and spend his summers there with his grandparents as a boy, he always went back there, took me when I was two, he’d hoped to go every year, but mum wouldn’t let him. I was greedy for everything about him. I think the seaside will always remind me of him. I loved and hated it. He used to smoke, but he had given up, and in his flat, the smell of tobacco lingered. If I pass a smoker and smell it…”

  “You think of him.”

  “It’s sharp, you know. Oddly comforting, sometimes it makes me cry. His voice, and laugh, the deep lines of his face. I used to fix those things in my mind so that I wouldn’t forget. I asked him endless questions, about his family, about his life, what happened between mum and dad.

  “I came here January before last, and he died in the following April. We never had Christmas together. Last year I couldn’t do it, none of it. Jess tried to make me go to her family, but I couldn’t.” Em held a silver bauble. “I hate mum, I shouldn’t, but I do. I’m so angry with her, for letting me down, for denying me one Christmas with him.” Fat heavy tears rolled down her face, and Ryan caught her up, he pulled her onto his lap and rocked her.

  They sat there for a while. “I’ve never enjoyed Christmas. Never had a nice Christmas. I’ve always been on the outside of it, even if foster families were okay, I never felt that I was part of it.”

  She sniffed and turned in his arms. “Then let’s have the most Christmassy Christmas, we’ll have a lovely time, just you and me.” She grinned at him.

  “That’s the plan.” He was so lost to her, so utterly in love, the idea had once frightened him if he was honest, but at that moment, he wanted it so badly.

  Christmas morning, Em was peeling carrots after eating bacon sandwiches and drinking mimosas, and she was on her second glass as Ryan peeled the potatoes.

  There was a film on the telly in the background, and they hadn’t touched the little nest of gifts. Ryan feared he’d gone overboard, but so had she.

  When the turkey was cooking, everything on course, on their third mimosa, they sat in front of the wood burner.

  “Will you play Santa?”

  “That depends if you’re on the naughty or nice list.”

  She burst out laughing. They opened presents containing everything from sexy underwear for Em, to a good watch for him.

  Em opened the present she bought for Cap, not that she was particularly bothered. “Doggie goggles?” Ryan laughed.

  “She likes to put her head out the window and lick at the wind. They’ll help her eyes, won’t they, baby?” Em ruffled the dog, and Ryan took a picture.

  He passed Em the last present, a little box. She took it cautiously. A pair of sapphire earrings sparkled at her.

  “Ryan, they’re too much.”

  “No, they’re just right.” A shiver went up her back, and she kissed him and put them on.

  “I love them, and I love you, thank you.”

  He made love to her, right there on the floor, in front of the fire, Cap asleep, surrounded by wrapping paper. He was slow, his hands everywhere, their bodies knowing each other so well, the joy of being inside her, loving her, giving everything she needed was perfect.

  He moaned as he cradled her head, each slow thrust bringing her closer. “That’s it, I need you to come, and I need to feel it.”

  She came pulling at his hair, straining her hips up to him. The pulse of her, the heat, made him lose himself, and getting lost with her was the sweetest pleasure. He cried out so loudly Cap sat up and barked.

  Em giggled into his shoulder as caught his breath. Her giggles turned into silent laughter. He growled at her, and shifted, thrusting once into her. She moaned. He did it again when the oven timer went off, and the beeping made her start laughing again. Ryan admitted defeat and slapped her bottom as she went to the bathroom, and he pulled his jeans back up, he hadn’t even taken them off. He saw to dinner, as she came back and redressed.

  Those few weeks were hedonistic; an idyll of their lives, but it couldn’t last. The real world snuck back in after New Year when Ryan went back to work, he had more or less moved in, yet it was contented and warm. They occasionally bickered, but a good workout session on the mat usually sorted it out.

  In the middle of a shitty week of gales and sleet in January, Em received an email.

  She had stayed in touch with Angie, keeping up with the BB Ladies, letting her know how she was. Angie had given her a home, shown her what that meant, and that people loved and gave of themselves. Em read the horror of what was in that email several times, not believing what she read.

  She phoned Angie immediately.

  “Oh Em,” Angie cried for a moment and pulled herself back together. “That’s my allotted tears for the day; I’m still getting used to it.”

  “How are the boys?”

  “Upset, afraid, but they’re good kids. I go into hospital next Wednesday. Mark is taking them for two weeks when I go in. Em, I’m having some difficulties at the theatre, and I wanted to ask for your help. My compère walked out on me, I’m in a real pickle with it, and I just don’t have the time or strength, and to be honest, I just don’t want to deal with it right now.”

  “What are you asking me for? To compère? I’ve never done that.”

  “No, but I was training you to direct, to manage. Jody was compère, and taking over for me, she walked the fuck out, left us in the lurch, everything is ticking over, just, and I need someone I can trust to do this.”

  How could Em not? How could she just abandon the woman who had given her everything when she needed it?

  “I have things to sort out, but I’ll be there when I can.”

  “Thank you, Em. I wouldn’t have asked, and I know you’ve moved on, but the people I trust to do this all have jobs and contracts…”

  “It’s okay, Angie, I’ll be there.”

  Em sat in her house, a curl of fear threading through her, could she go on stage if she needed to? Maybe, but unlikely. As she sat there and thought, she reassessed. She had been working hard, dancing again, leading a class, her anxiety was under control for the most part, and she was letting some of her grief and bitterness about her mother and dad go, she felt better, and centred in a way that she had never been.

  It was dark, and Cap barked when Ryan came in.

  “Em?”

  He shook out his coat on the porch, and hung it up, turning on the lights.

&nb
sp; “I’m here.” Her voice was leaden.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He cupped her face. Em searched his eyes. “I have to back to London for a bit, Angie has cancer of the womb. She’s been left in the lurch, I’m going to go help at the theatre, and help for a bit until a new manager can be found.”

  “Okay, do what you need to, I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Thank you.”

  She arranged for Mags to take Cap while she was gone, and Ryan would watch her house.

  She took the train down a few days later, not wanting to drive into the city, and the sex they had enjoyed the night before, furious needy sex, was present all the way there. It wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

  She reached Angie’s at lunch and enveloped the woman in a tight hug, she seemed to be smaller, but she wasn’t, she looked exactly the same, except there was a thread of grey in her hair, and a few more laughter lines. She smiled into the warm chaos of her former home, still cluttered and untidy, but wonderfully comfortable.

  They strolled down the narrow Haybrick Lane in a central, but a decidedly dodgy bit of town. Nostalgia swept through Em, and she thought of how it was all changing around her.

  The real London was slowly being eroded into a den for wankers and arseholes. Normal people who populated the haphazard meandering evidence of history, in its soot-stained decay and crumbling brick, lingered on, avoiding gentrification and the shitty domination of aspirational twats in red trousers and tossers in suits.

  The Stage and Arrow Pub and the theatre just down from it were staggeringly popular, primarily because they avoided the enclosing walls of money. Apart from one hipster café that, other than tourists, everyone refused to go in, it remained the same as it had for thirty years.

  It was a short lane, and so narrow that a taxi barely fit down it as it curved off in one direction. The Hayhouse Theatre sat in the middle, there was a restaurant, the pub, the café, and that was about it. Above everywhere but the theatre were flats.

  They reached the theatre at two with all the girls shuffling in, this was their early morning, and it would take some getting used to again. Em wore skinny black jeans, boots, and a snug tailored jumper.

  Her phone beeped with a text from Ryan, and she felt him with her as she went in. The familiar room, the sound her shoes made on the floor, the smell, the lights, brought her past rushing back in on her. She blinked it off and marched down the aisle.

  Benny stood up and embraced Em. Benny was a non-binary choreographer who had a silver grey quiff and cheekbones that cut glass.

  “Long time.”

  “We’re glad you’re here.”

  “I hope I can be of use.”

  Em was introduced to the new girls, said hello to old friends. The talk was of Jody, flouncing off last minute four days ago in the wake of being asked to work more because of Angie having time off. Jody wanted an unreasonable pay rise, and Angie couldn’t give it to her.

  They went through the set, no one liked compèring, so Em went through it a once as they went, and they formed a plan. Part of Em didn’t want this, going back felt wrong, and yet oddly compelling, to see if she still had it.

  Em fell back into it easily, uncomfortably so. Angie left to fetch the kids, and Em got on with it. Unease rippled back into her, but she shrugged it off, or more it slid off, as she was lubed up, and squeezed into a black latex catsuit. The runner and assistant, Lily, was a talented networker and in charge of social media, creating a buzz, not that Em was entirely sure what that entailed, still being deeply wary of the internet.

  Lily uploaded a filtered black and white photo of Em with a tight ponytail on top of her head, heavy makeup as she rested a riding crop across the back of her head, her hands leaning on it. Em stood legs apart in six-inch heels, in a defiant pose, with the caption ‘the virgin is dead, long live Queen Silver’ underneath it. She thought about using it for her Christmas card that year.

  Em had a revenue of material to use, and although she had always been the virginal type on stage, she could do this. She eyed herself in the mirror, definitely nothing like the doe-eyed innocent.

  The familiar dip of nerves buzzed through her body. Compèring was a hard job, while she wasn’t on stage that much and she didn’t have to dance, she was on watch all night, and she set the pace, made sure all was well and interacted with the audience.

  She was nervous as fuck and wanted Ryan to see her, to be in that audience.

  When she stood on the stage in the dark, and the spotlight was on her, she introduced herself, and the game was on.

  Em did a fair job, not perfect, but okay. The acts were good, but when the fire dancer came on, she worried about health and safety. As the night came to a close, the thrill Em felt was electric, and she was as high as the other girls were when they all began changing. She remembered the draw of it, addictive and artifice.

  Everyone was abuzz when she was going over problems with them in the dressing room. There was a change in atmosphere, they weren’t so worried, and disagreements put aside. The tablet she had with the planner, schedule, and reminders on that she kept with her, began beeping out a familiar tune. Em answered it while she was in the changing room.

  “Well hello, hot stuff.” Em’s grin was huge as Ryan’s pixilated face came into view, and the image sharpened.

  “Hello, beautiful.”

  A girl looked over Em’s shoulder and whistled. She was in her underwear. Ryan’s eyes went wide, and he looked down.

  “Fuck a duck, who is that?”

  Other girls joined her.

  “This is hot stuff, girls.”

  Ryan was mortified.

  “Has he got any mates?” everyone laughed.

  “All right, put your lady boners away. Hang on.” She left the changing room and went to the office, and she shut and locked the door.

  “Fuck, what are you wearing?”

  “You like?” she set the tablet down, and stepped back, she turned for him.

  “I like, you’re killing me.”

  “Would you like a bit more?” she unzipped the suit and leant right forward. “I’m covered in lube.” She laughed as she strung the word out.

  His hands went down under the camera.

  “Show me touching yourself.”

  He adjusted the tablet, his hand round his cock. She pulled open the suit, exposing her tits, and unzipped it all the way to the crotch, pushing her hand down.

  “I was so turned on up on stage, thinking of you, that I was there with just you watching me.” Her free hand ran over her breasts, her skin shiny with the lube. She came quickly as he fisted his cock, and he came not long after.

  “Em, I miss you so much.” He sat back, panting as she zipped herself back up.

  “Me too.” Her eyes were bright. “I have so much to do before I shepherd everyone out, and I’m so tired now. I need to sleep because I haven’t had ten minutes since I got off the train.”

  “Okay, speak tomorrow.”

  “Dream of me.”

  “Always.”

  She blew him a kiss as she hung up. She showered, made sure all was as it should be, and took a cab back to Angie’s.

  Em woke somewhere near noon. She shuffled her sleeping mask up, red indent lines were on her cheeks, and her vision was blurred.

  It was a bright but bitterly cold day. She wore her dad’s old aviators that she had kept and a giant parker jacket. She drove Angie’s car to the hospital.

  Lily was at the theatre micro managing, and Angie’s kids were taking the day off school to be with their mum.

  They were good kids, two boys, fourteen, and twelve. They had changed so much in the last few years. Their dad was due to pick the kids up from the hospital, and he’d delegate them while she recovered, school would have to wait.

  When Angie was settled and prepped, Mark appeared, he seemed reasonable enough, but he tended to flake out, and Angie was more worried that he wou
ld let them down than about herself, Angie just nodded in relief when she saw her ex.

  Em went straight to the theatre. People seemed happy with Em being compère. Social media had a pretty positive response, and they had sold out on the weekend. They auditioned a few acts, but none took.

  That week was full on, and Em visited Angie, as did some of the girls. The op went well, and her doctors were pleased. As a precaution, she’d have three rounds of chemo when she recovered.

  Em knew if it weren't for Ryan and Cap, she’d be tempted to stay, not as compère, but as director and headliner.

  She took in the city that she had fallen in love with when she was younger, one where she had spent her teens and early adulthood thinking it was the place to be, and once inside it, it was impossible to see another viewpoint. Going back, Em observed it with a newfound maturity. It didn't beguile her, the promise it offered was hollow, it had a price, and it was one Em no longer wanted to pay. She wanted her home to go to her dog and her man, wanting space and peace.

  Monday was an early start where they went through the show, dealt with alterations, and the like. Two girls were a no show, and they couldn’t be contacted. Em was furious, Mark flaked, and Em had to pick the kids up and get them home in time for the sitter.

  Em went through all of Angie’s contact lists and found Clara, Em remembered her, and she left to do her own show. She rang her on the off chance.

  As it was, her own show wasn’t doing too well, and the idea of compèring as a regular gig sounded pretty appealing just then. She was in her forties but could pass for thirty, been an on stage Domme for ten years, and she knew how to control an audience. Clara was there after the girls had gone, and Em, with Benny and Lily, worked out everything else. Everyone was pretty well seasoned, and they knew how to wing it.

  It worked, and Em did the headline act. It felt strange to dance again. She stood on the stage, in the dark, waiting for the lights, not feeling her own feet as panic crawled up her, but when the music began, and the heat and glare of the lights hit her, she danced. She didn’t feel anything, and it was as if she watched from afar when she moved, looking down from above, her heart locked in a single beat, and it laced her with pain.