by Gilli Allan
‘What’re you doing, Jess?’
‘Just straightening you up. It’s the mother in me.’ But somehow, although she’d accomplished stage one of the operation, she could not quite bring herself to re-button him immediately. This close up, peephole view of his chest was a little too tantalising to relinquish. Then it was too easy to slide her fingers inside the gap, too easy to stretch forward an inch or two just to breathe in the scent, to discover how it would feel to touch her mouth against his silky skin.
‘Jess?’
She looked up and before she’d had time to wonder whether this was a good idea they were kissing.
Chapter Seven
Even as his arms tightened around her, Jessica pulled away abruptly and stood up. A baleful amber glare pinned her. Outside the window Tubs sat on the sill, peering through the glass. On seeing the face of the ‘keeper of the door’ emerge above the back of the sofa he opened his mouth in mute appeal. Jess turned her back on him; frowning at the carpet, she paced around the room, arms hugged about herself, waiting for her pulse to slow.
‘Is something the matter?’
She raised her head and looked at Danny; then knelt on the sofa beside him, her hands on his shoulders.
‘Danny, this isn’t right. It wouldn’t be fair. I’m too old for you! And anyway, it’s too soon. I’m not ready for a relationship. Do you understand?’
He leant back against the cushions, as though he needed a longer perspective, as though he would see the key to her words in her expression. For a moment or two they just stared at one another. But she knew she was right. They had to resist the temptation. They had to be strong. It was too soon for a new relationship. It was questionable whether the time would ever be right for a relationship with a nineteen year old.
Gradually, as she gazed down at him, her frown dissolved, her fragile resolution wavered. It had been too long since she’d had sex, and even longer since she’d enjoyed it. His shirt still gaped open seductively and there was something in this face, in its particular and delightful configuration, which for her pressed all the right buttons. A kind of craziness was moving into her brain. The take-over was hostile. Rationality was being summarily evicted. There wasn’t time enough in the world to wait for the male of the species to make all the moves. Her breathing quickened and with a groan of surrender she stooped towards him.
Mouth found mouth. Soon clothes were disarranged, shirts pulled from waistbands, hands against skin; skin against skin. His name was muttered over and over. With lips, tongue, and hands Jess found the easily accessible parts of his body. Soon they had slithered in an ungainly tangle onto the floor, along with the throw and several cushions. Here she dragged at the clothes that still encumbered their limbs, delving for his more inaccessible parts. Completion of what had been started was essential. Success was only moments away. Embarrassment, apologies, guilt could be dealt with later. Her brain was spiralling into space; nothing mattered but this. As she reached for his engorged penis a distant voice penetrated her consciousness.
‘No! Oh please! Jess! No! Don’t touch me! Don’t! Oh no! Fuck!’ And she felt the unmistakable shuddering spasm and then the damp splash.
‘Oh Jess, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry …’
Her head was resting on his bared chest, she remained there, unmoving, as the jangling in her brain subsided and with it the flare of irritation at being thwarted. The Eagles were singing ‘Take it to the Limit’. As her breathing calmed, the irrelevant thought drifted into her head that Danny must have pressed the replay button when he was trying to work out how to use the sound system. Her ear was still squashed humidly against his ribcage and at last she could clearly hear what she should have heard before. Above the rapid beat of his heart, which was only to be expected, was the whistling gasp of asthma. Jess opened her eyes and saw the pearly fluid puddled on her thigh; suppressing a shiver of distaste she raised her eyes. His were eloquent with mortification, regret, apology.
‘Jess. Oh, Jess, I’m sorry, so sorry,’ he whispered huskily. ‘I was afraid this might … You’re just too …’ He took a breath and an apologetic smile briefly illuminated his face. ‘… too sexy for me.’ He subsided flat back onto the floor. A cushion perilously balanced between him and the sofa fell over onto his face. He left it there.
‘Don’t apologise. Don’t worry. It doesn’t matter.’ Jessica uttered the reassurances mechanically, without conviction, as she slowly recovered her fractured senses and sat up, gathering the crumpled throw around her. Tense and still rattled, she was about to make a joke to defuse the situation, but something stopped her.
The squashy velvet cushion still partially obscured his face. Even from several feet away she could see the cat hairs which still clung to it, despite the cursory late-night vacuuming of the room. A sudden wave of shame flooded hotly through her. She pushed the cushion away brusquely.
‘I’m the one who should be saying sorry! I’ve been so selfish. Your chest? Are you all right? That cushion is Tubs’ favourite.’ There was an impatient rattle of the letter flap. ‘Talk of the devil!’
‘Your damn cat? Yeah, yeah. I’ll be OK. But Jess …’ his indrawn breath wheezed. ‘I’m sorry, I think I might have to borrow the inhaler again … please?’
As Jessica entered her bedroom she was still tying the throw from the sofa, sarong style, around her. Danny might as well keep the inhaler, she decided, as she picked it up from the chest of drawers. Then, pulling a tissue from the box by the bed, she registered the blue plastic potty that Danny had found and put by the bed. She smiled at the considerate gesture. The potty was hardly used for its proper purpose these days. Her son preferred to use the grown up toilet, even if the child-seat and Mum’s help were required.
Rory! All strength drained abruptly from her legs. She sank down heavily on the mattress. What was the time? Shit! No point in scrubbing at her thigh with a tissue; the semen had already dried and there was no time for a bath. Her head drooped into her hands. The bud of guilt bloomed.
‘What am I doing? What the hell do I think I’m doing?’ she muttered.
‘Forgive me for being so late! I lost track of the time!’ The atmosphere at Alison’s house was frosty. Rory sat on the floor in the hall, anorak on, back against the wall, his Buzz Lightyear backpack of overnight things beside him. He looked as if he’d been there quite a while. As she entered, burbling apologies, his expression was full of reproach.
‘What on earth can I say,’ she pleaded to both her son and to Alison. Neither seemed impressed.
‘Yes. Well. Everyone else managed to pick up their kids ages ago. I guess it’s fashionable to be late …’
‘Excuse me?’
‘But this isn’t London.’
‘There was no deliberate intention.’
‘I wouldn’t usually mind … only Derek’s had to go into work, so I’m on my own, and I didn’t sleep well. Rory kept waking up and making a fuss. Waking everyone else up.’ Indeed, her skin had a pale, greasy sheen, and she was still wearing a dressing gown.
‘I am really sorry. You should have phoned me! You needn’t have done lunch. I’d have collected him first thing.’
Alison looked sceptical. ‘And Rory and my Hannah don’t seem to get on all that well. He seems that much younger than her. He’s been grumpy for hours.’
‘Mummy, you’r’uckin’ slag! Rory said, as if to underline the fact, and folded his arms onto his knees and scowled. Alison drew in a sharp gasp. Jessica felt the blush rise in her cheeks. It was fair comment. She’d deserved it.
‘I hope he hasn’t been swearing like this the whole time?’
‘There have been a few choice expressions this morning as he got crosser. Nothing quite as ripe as that!’
‘What must you think? He’s been so much better lately. If I’d thought … I wouldn’t have asked you to have him. He doesn’t understand what he’s saying. It was my ex, Sean, Rory’s stepfather. He was abusive … Rory started to pick up on the language.�
� Impossible to get into this now, standing in the hallway of a woman she scarcely knew. The disintegration of her relationship with Sean and its impact on Rory would need several hours of sensitive explanation. ‘Enough to say it was one of the reasons I left Sean.’
She had been wrong to let Rory come to this sleepover. Even now he was not thoroughly settled in his own home, why on earth had she thought him able to feel secure and happy in someone else’s if she wasn’t there with him? They had yet to build relationships of real friendship with other mothers and their children. Only then, when his confidence had grown, would she try the experiment again.
‘Please believe me, I am really sorry if I’ve put you out or embarrassed you. Thank you so much for having him. I’d love to have Hannah any time.’
As they walked away from the house, Jess wondered whether she would ever be called upon to honour this pledge. Alison was unlikely to send her precious daughter to a house where the three-year old son called his mother a ‘fucking slag’ however mispronounced. Rory declined to hold her hand.
The room was empty of other children, but Rory, cheerfully absorbed, moved from the tables to the apparatus and back again. As he played, he accompanied himself with a continuous commentary on his imaginary world, accented with the relevant sound effects.
‘To ‘finity and beyond!’ he suddenly shouted, leaping from the Jungle Gym onto a big cushion.
‘Look at him now. Couldn’t be happier. But he had a really rotten time at Hannah’s sleepover. It was too soon for him. I wish I hadn’t let you persuade me.’
‘But then you wouldn’t have gone to the party and met your new boyfriend.’
‘Danny’s not my boyfriend!’ she responded instantly, but could not prevent the smile invading her face. ‘But he is so cute and, like I said, quite unaware …’
‘So what?’ Sheila interrupted dismissively. ‘You’ve found yourself a young man who seems unconscious that he’s good looking?’
‘But it was funny. A total role reversal,’ Jess tried to explain. ‘Almost like one of those daft old black and white movies, where the hero dumbfounds the heroine by asking her to take off her glasses and let down her hair. “Don’t you know you’re beautiful, Miss Jones?”‘
‘Even though the dowdy Miss Jones is being played by Rita Hayworth, or some other Hollywood luminary, who’s spent all of her narcissistic life being gazed at admiringly by the general public,’ Sheila amplified.
‘Danny is such a refreshing change from the guys I’ve known. He’s sweet and gentle, and quite startlingly frank.’
‘I’m not really interested in how sweet and gentle he is, Jess!’ Sheila’s impatience was showing. ‘He’s nineteen! A boy! He probably still collects conkers! Plus, if he’s as gorgeous as you say …’ If? It wasn’t as if Sheila hadn’t seen him. ‘It won’t take too long for the female population in the area, the ones in his own age bracket, to catch on. What I want to know is … did you or didn’t you?’
Jessica had already decided not to admit their fumbled and ultimately failed attempt at sex and not just because of her own shameful part in the story. She was anxious not to hand ammunition to Sheila. Though irritated at the time by his lack of prowess, Jess now felt protective of Danny, and in a world where a certain level of sexual sophistication was assumed in the young, she didn’t wish to expose his failure.
‘We were a bit past it when we got home. I’d certainly had too much to drink. And in the morning I’d thought better of it.’
‘And what was Danny’s reaction to that? He must have felt a bit cheated, the way you were carrying on the night before. At his age it’s all they’re usually after.’
‘But he’s not like that. He’s not at all pushy. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s …’ Jess could have kicked herself.
‘What, Jess? Gay? A virgin? You’re blushing.’
‘Inexperienced.’
‘Well, you can sort him out there, can’t you?’
Jess bristled. ‘I’ve no intention of sorting him out! Look,’ she paused, and scratched her head. Sheila, it seemed, was being deliberately provocative. ‘I know it’s inappropriate for a woman of my age, and in my situation, to pursue a relationship with someone like Danny, which is why I’m not going to do it. But that doesn’t mean I’m planning to remain celibate until Rory grows up and flies the nest. Being with Danny reminded me of my own needs. Believe me, I’d be really glad for him if he found a girlfriend, one near his own age. He’s only recently split up with a woman called Zoe. Probably the one you mentioned, with the nose rings!
‘Anyway, when I gave him a lift home he got me to drop him off by Skirmish Bridge. He lives somewhere near there. He was telling me there are plans to pull the bridge down, if that’s the route chosen for the new by-pass. But by then I was already very late. Alison was really put out …’ This tactic about being late for Rory, or the bridge and its possible demise couldn’t divert Sheila.
‘When do you plan to see him again?’
‘I don’t. I mean I haven’t any plans.’
‘But he’s got your phone number?’
‘Only my landline.’
‘Is there some coded difference between giving your landline number or your mobile, Jess?’
‘Look … it’s not like I’m desperate to hear from him. There’s a wealth of difference between keeping in touch and “a relationship”. It’s up to him if he wants to. I would have taken his mobile number but he didn’t have it on him … I didn’t even have mine. We left the house in a rush and I forgot it wasn’t in my usual bag. It’s new and I’ve not memorised the number yet. So I gave him the landline, but didn’t write it down …’
‘If he can’t remember your telephone number he’s brain dead. So, when he does call, which I’m damned sure he will, do you think a platonic friendship is all he’ll be after? At his age he’ll not be on the lookout for a woman to settle down with. So how will you handle his inevitable expectations?’
‘We’ll have to negotiate that one when we come to it. Honestly Sheila, I don’t know why you’re so worked up about it. It’s up to me, isn’t it? My life. My body. If I decide I want to sleep with him I will, however young he is, however unsuitable. Now let’s change the subject, OK?’ Sheila’s mouth compressed. ‘Don’t you care about the new road?’
‘Wherever a new road is routed the nimbys will rise up bleating! And as far as I’m concerned Warford needs a bypass,’ Sheila said tersely. ‘It’s a case of squaring that circle. Presumably Danny and his mates don’t want a new road at all?’
‘Don’t think so, but anywhere would be better than the destruction of an ancient bridge, surely?’
‘I don’t know where they’re getting their information about the route. So far there’s been nothing official in the public domain. Even so, the bridge isn’t quite as ancient as the name implies.’
‘What does the name imply? I asked Danny but not being local he didn’t know.’
‘This area was a Royalist stronghold at the time of the Civil War. The river used to be wider and there was a ford across it. In the early days the Cavaliers saw off a regiment of Parliamentarians in a battle around the site of the ford. The bridge was built later, like most of the town, after the Restoration. So that’s why the town is called Warford, the pub is called the Prince Rupert. The cul-de-sac off the high street is Fairfax End, the square is named after Charles the First, and Gore farm, which the river dissects, rather questions the fact it was only a skirmish.’
‘Yuck! I hadn’t realised. I never pay much attention to local names other than to find my way around. History wasn’t my strongest suit at school. And we only did the late nineteenth and early twentieth century in any depth.’
‘If you’re that bothered about the road there’s a public meeting planned. You’ll have to go,’ Sheila said.
‘Well … if I can organise babysitting.’ An uncomfortable echo from her conscience reproached her. ‘After the disaster of the sleepover I feel a bit wary. Changing the
subject again, did I tell you I’ve had an offer on my flat?’
‘Wow! You’ve been lucky!’
‘Fingers crossed! It was a snip when I bought it, a re-possession. If it goes through I’ll be getting over double what I paid. But it’s a big if.’
‘Are you giving any of the proceeds to Sean?’
‘He’ll be lucky! I’d already had the place five years before I met Sean. And within a few years of moving in I discovered that instead of depositing money into the bank account set up to pay the mortgage, he’d been raiding it to finance his internet gambling habit.’
‘Gambling with your money?’
‘When he ran out of his own,’ Jess smiled, although the reality of that dreadful time had been the polar opposite of amusing. ‘At first he was apparently winning more than losing and repaying what he’d so-called borrowed. Then he was breaking even. Then he was losing steadily. I blame myself to an extent. I’d taken my eye off the ball. It was the only joint account and it was still postal, not online. I became so absorbed with being a mum it was easier to trust him, when in fact he’d been hiding all the relevant letters, statements, and demands. I should have realised something was wrong when he started drinking heavily, getting abusive, and badgering me to go back to work. When everything came to light I had a large bill to pay off and the mortgage lender to placate. I tried to throw Sean out. He wouldn’t go. So that’s how Rory and I ended up here. Since the incident before Christmas he’s had a warning letter from my solicitor about harassment. I made the formal offer that he could stay in the flat rent-free until it’s sold. That’s as far as I’m willing to go. If he wants a share of the sale he’ll have to take me to court.’
‘Good for you!’ This was more the kind of story Sheila would approve of – a woman getting one over on a man. ‘Will you be looking for a place to buy round here?’