Back After the Break

by Anita Notaro

  ‘Don’t worry, I wasn’t going to embarrass you. I’ll hop into the shower and go and see what he has, then we can decide. Would that be all right?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Oh and by the way, it’s fine if we want to stay here again tonight, although I’m not taking anything for granted, OK?’

  Was he crazy, Lindsay wondered. It was one thing putting last night down to alcohol or passion or madness or a combination of all three, but now they were sober and they’d had sex and he’d seen her without her make-up, for Christ’s sake. Surely this wasn’t the logical next step?

  Ten minutes later he’d showered and dressed and he looked exactly what he was, confident and vibrant and successful.

  ‘Back in ten minutes,’ he announced. ‘You OK?’

  ‘Fine.’ Lindsay was up and halfway to the bathroom as she spoke, having made an instant decision to go with the flow.

  She showered until her skin hurt, with her hair piled up to avoid having to wash and dry it, then rooted in her bag for her emergency supplies – foundation, blusher, mascara and lip gloss – which she applied with vigour, wishing she had half a ton of concealer to hide the bags under her eyes.

  Suddenly there was a knock on the bathroom door. She hadn’t heard him come back.

  He was grinning although he gave her a funny look when he saw her.

  ‘You look like a little girl, caught stealing her mother’s make-up.’

  The big white robe made her look smaller and she always felt like she was play-acting when she piled her hair on top of her head, so she knew what he meant.

  ‘I’ll take that as a compliment, especially as I feel about ninety, too much alcohol and too little sleep.’

  ‘Still, all that exercise would have helped your figure.’ She felt her face going red.

  He looked as if was going to kiss her but then he suddenly became all businesslike.

  ‘He doesn’t have much, most of the stuff he keeps here are suits and shirts and ties, for meetings and business dinners, but I got you these jeans and a belt to keep them up, plus a big denim shirt and a warm outdoor jacket. Oh, and these trainers and thick socks. Me, I’m going to have to wear my suit although I did get a loan of a clean shirt that I can wear without a tie so that I won’t look a complete prat, out for a walk on Saturday in a suit and tie.’

  Lindsay couldn’t help laughing at the ridiculousness of it all as she got dressed. She had no underwear, no toothbrush and was wearing a complete stranger’s clothes. A man’s clothes at that.

  ‘Ready.’

  She was still laughing as she emerged and used his tie to hold back her hair.

  They headed out of the hotel, giggling in case anyone noticed them, or worse recognized him. Although they were only minutes from the centre of Dublin there was a magnificent park nearby and they walked for an hour in the almost deserted space, enjoying the crisp, bright afternoon. Anyone they did meet seemed to be related, families with small kids or older couples walking dogs, or grandparents with children and grandchildren. It made their relationship, or lack of it, seem strange.

  ‘You know, I’ve spent the last sixteen or so hours with you and I know absolutely nothing about you,’ Chris said suddenly, as if the thought had just occurred to him.

  ‘I don’t even know where you live, or if you have family, or even how old you are.’

  So they walked and talked and she told him about her little Victorian cottage in Ranelagh, about her mother and her sister Anne and her two much-loved nephews. He laughed when she described Charlie and his antics and he asked about Tara, whom he’d heard her on the phone to, so she was quite happy to fill him in on Debbie as well, sharing some of their more tame adventures.

  For his part, he told her he was from Galway, in the West of Ireland, where his mother and father still lived. His father was a surgeon and his mother a lecturer and he had no brothers and one younger and one older sister.

  ‘Oh God, an Irish Mammy’s only son, what a nightmare,’ she teased him and he admitted that yes, she was probably slightly protective of him but he’d been away from home since college so she was now happy to let him lead his own life.

  ‘Are you close?’ she wanted to know, thinking of her own tightly knit yet slightly dysfunctional family.

  ‘We’re not on the phone every day but I see quite a bit of my parents. My sister Lisa lives in Australia at the moment so it’s e-mail and the occasional phone call and Judy is here in Dublin so she cadges a meal off me every now and then when she’s broke or has no guy in tow.’

  ‘She’s the younger one?’ Lindsay wanted to know.

  ‘Yeah, she’s twenty-seven but still the baby, eight years younger than me and thinks all my friends are ancient. Lisa is still single as well and she’s a year older than me. Luckily, my parents aren’t worried that none of us are showing signs of wanting to settle down. I think they’re both too busy with their own lives.’

  They strolled and chatted and looked like any normal couple, Lindsay thought. He seemed relaxed and very ordinary. She kept waiting for the ego to appear, given his celebrity status, but it never showed up. She saw one or two people looking at him as they passed but he didn’t seem to notice. For her part she was just very glad to have her Prada sunglasses. It made talking to him easier.

  ‘Can’t hide behind them forever,’ he grinned as if reading her thoughts.

  Chapter Thirteen

  IT WAS ALMOST dark when they decided to head back to the hotel.

  ‘What do you think about staying again tonight?’ he asked her.

  ‘OK,’ she said simply, not looking at him. ‘I just need to ring Tara and make sure she can keep Charlie, or at least give him to my mother, although that would raise too many questions, on second thoughts. My family are not as civilized as yours, I’m afraid, they all butt in whether you want them to or not.’

  Suddenly, the pale, winter white sky turned to ashes and it started to rain so they kept under trees as much as possible on the way back, but still managed to get soaked as they ran the last quarter of a mile ‘home’.

  They were still laughing as they entered the room, wondering what on earth people had made of them as they ran through reception, Chris in his Armani suit and Lindsay with wet hair and wearing men’s clothes. The room had been transformed again, with the heavy drapes pulled against the rain and increasing winds, fire burning brightly and lamps lit.

  ‘Hot whiskies, I think, for medicinal reasons only.’ Chris was already rooting around for the necessary ingredients in their well-stocked bar, which seemed to have everything. ‘Dry your hair or you won’t be starting work on Tuesday,’ he ordered. ‘And get out of some of those wet clothes.’

  Lindsay was sitting on the floor, shoes and socks off, drying her hair in front of the huge log fire when he emerged with two cut-glass tumblers full of the warm golden liquid beloved of Dubliners during the winter months, with sugar and cloves and lemon slices. She shivered slightly as she drank the hot toddy. He knelt down beside her, gently took her glass away and put his arms around her, then he rubbed her back and dried her hair and held her until she lifted her face and he kissed her, slowly, a kiss that seemed to go on for ever. And when he stopped and looked at her she kissed him again and suddenly they were lying on the rug, he was peeling off her wet clothes and she was stroking him and kissing him lightly on his neck and shoulders and forehead and loosening his clothing . . . and the hot whiskies were abandoned.

  It was dark as they lay, satisfied, in front of the blazing fire, grinning at each other like a couple of school kids.

  ‘Know something? I never thought I’d say this again but I’m starving,’ Lindsay announced.

  ‘You’ve a great appetite, I’ll say that for you,’ he teased, and she threw a cushion at him, feeling a bit more confident in his company now.

  ‘I’m not one of your usual model types, so I won’t be having a salad for dinner.’

  ‘I’ve never gone out with a “model type” as you put it. I�
��m well used to real women.’ He winked at her knowingly.

  They decided to order from room service and eat by the fire, so Lindsay got back into her fluffy white robe and they tucked into fillet steaks with a huge green salad and made no attempt to resist the myriad potato dishes and sauces that arrived with their meal. The waiter even laid a crisp, white tablecloth on the coffee table in front of the fire and lit candles and poured aubergine-coloured wine into tall, elegant glasses. They had skipped starters and decided instead to try a selection of desserts – all now winking at them from a side table, tiny lemon tarts, chocolate roulade, miniature crème brûlées and raspberry meringues. Despite Lindsay’s moans about being stuffed, they managed, between chats and sips of wine and gulps of coffee, to polish off the lot. Then they curled up oh the huge comfy sofa and watched a movie.

  In the break Lindsay phoned Tara, who had indeed rescued Charlie, fed him and walked him and sneaked him in to her apartment where he was now lying directly up against the radiator in the kitchen, refusing to move.

  ‘He thinks it’s your version of an Aga.’ Lindsay laughed and managed to avoid Tara’s amazed ‘You won’t be home tonight either’ questions with lots of ‘talk to you later’ type answers.

  By ten-thirty Lindsay could hardly keep her eyes open so they watched the end of the movie in bed and when Chris teased her about the ‘girlie’ ending he found her fast asleep, propped up against the pillows.

  She woke early the next morning and this time waking up beside him didn’t feel so strange. Before she had a chance to sneak out of bed to see if she looked even half decent, Chris had slipped his arms around her from behind. Once again their lovemaking was different as they teased and explored, with Lindsay marvelling in her new-found confidence as she devoured his body. He told her again how beautiful she was and she believed him because somehow, since Friday, she felt good about herself for the first time in ages. It showed in her eyes, her face and her movements, her whole demeanour.

  Chris had ordered all the Sunday papers, Irish and English, with breakfast so they stayed in bed, eating another huge meal and drinking masses of coffee and juice and reading each other bits from the papers aloud, which was one of the things that Lindsay had missed most when she and Paul had split up.

  ‘Tell me a secret.’ She looked up to find Chris watching her and something made her hesitate.

  ‘I’ve no secrets left,’ she laughed, not sure she was ready to tell him about her past life.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, we all have millions of secrets, thoughts we don’t share. Go on, tell me a big one.’

  She realized that she had nothing to lose. ‘I was engaged until a couple of months ago, would have been just about married by now, except that I found out he was going to marry someone else.’

  He looked at her for ages, it seemed. ‘That’s rough. How did you cope?’

  ‘Very badly at the start. My friends mainly pulled me through it. And the new job helped a lot.’ She gave him a wobbly smile. ‘It was the worst thing that ever happened to me.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I’m OK now.’

  ‘Do you still care about him?’

  Lindsay wondered what the honest answer to that was. How to explain that some days she hardly thought about him at all and some nights she cried herself to sleep? How sometimes it just crept up on her and she felt so lonely for him. How she worried that she’d never feel like that again, ever.

  ‘I met him recently in a restaurant and it didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. Then at other times, like reading the papers with you just now, I thought of him and it hurt. So yes, I suppose I do still have some feelings for him. I guess I always will.’

  He reached over and pulled her close and just held her for a while, stroking her hair.

  ‘Now, you tell me one.’ She looked up at him expectantly.

  ‘Well, this is probably not the right moment to tell you but, erm, I have a date later with a girl I met last week. She’s been working away for the past few days and I had arranged to have dinner with her tonight. I wanted to let you know, just in case . . . Dublin can be a small place sometimes.’

  ‘Oh.’ She didn’t know what to say to him. It was strange to think of him with someone else, getting to know them, sharing secrets, maybe having sex. Just like the two of them, in fact. She wondered how she’d compare.

  Don’t even go there girl, a voice inside her head warned. This was only ever meant to be a one-night stand, another notch in the recovery process.

  ‘Thanks for telling me.’

  ‘That’s OK. Are you all right about it?’ He looked a bit embarrassed and she was glad he’d asked.

  ‘Yeah.’

  They went back to reading the papers but somehow she knew that both of their minds were elsewhere.

  ‘Fancy some lunch?’ he asked her after a while.

  ‘Definitely not, I ate enough breakfast for three people. Anyway, I suppose we should make tracks and give them back their room.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s almost three o’clock, they’ll think we’ve moved in permanently.’

  ‘What will I do about Maurice’s clothes? Can I wear them home and have them cleaned and send them back to him in a day or two?’ Lindsay didn’t feel like getting back into her party clothes.

  ‘Sure, I’ll let him know. I’ll just take a quick shower and then I’ll call him.’

  ‘By the way, I’d like to contribute towards the cost of the room for the weekend.’ She was adamant she wanted to pay her share.

  ‘On the house.’ She didn’t believe him. ‘Seriously, I spoke to him yesterday and our only cost is for food and I’ve already sorted that out. So, you get the next one, OK?’ He grinned at her.

  ‘OK.’ This was not at all like her. Everything seemed to be ‘OK’. She felt very relaxed, as if she’d known him for ages. While he called Maurice, Lindsay showered and combed her hair and repaired whatever damage she could with her meagre supply of make-up.

  They left with more clothes than when they arrived and strolled to a taxi rank together in the late December afternoon. He asked for her phone number and she gave her mobile but not her home number. She’d had enough experience of coming home nights wondering if there was a message. She wasn’t ready to go down that road again yet. He gave her his mobile and his home number, which made her happy, although she didn’t know why.

  He’d decided to walk home as he only lived about fifteen minutes away, near Leeson Street, a very fashionable area of Dublin. It was an apartment in a Georgian house, he’d told her yesterday, and she wondered what it was like.

  A taxi arrived. Suddenly the parting was awkward, as all first partings are. Each unsure, not knowing quite what to say.

  ‘Take care, I’ll call you soon.’

  ‘Or maybe I’ll call you,’ she laughed as she got into the car.

  ‘On second thoughts no. I made the first move. You call me. Oh, and enjoy your evening and remember, nice girls don’t have sex on the first date.’

  He was still grinning as the taxi pulled off.

  Chapter Fourteen

  THE HOUSE WAS strangely silent when Lindsay let herself in. She’d grown used to the never-ending buzz of hotel life and Charlie’s absence added to the eeriness in the shadowy hall. She phoned Tara.

  ‘I’m back and I owe you one.’

  ‘You owe me the details. I’m on my way and Debbie is probably asleep in her car outside your house. She’s been panting since yesterday morning.’

  ‘OK, give me twenty minutes to change and light the fire.’

  Lindsay quickly showered again, mainly so she could finally wash her hair and use a good ex-foliator on her skin, which felt grimy from lack of proper cleansing. She slathered on masses of body butter and ‘rose day cream’, her current must-have for her face. She towel dried her hair and got into comfy clothes and had just put a match to the fire when the doorbell rang. Three bodies hurled themselves in the door, Charlie’s enthusiasm beaten for once by
the eager faces of her friends.

  ‘This’d better be good,’ Debbie grinned as she fished a bottle of wine and a packet of doggie treats from her bag and they settled on the couch with Charlie at their feet.

  Lindsay grinned stupidly, wondering how long she could drag it out.

  ‘I spent the weekend in a hotel with Chris Keating. I asked him to have sex with me.’

  It was worth it just to see the look on their faces. Debbie almost choked and Tara’s mouth opened and closed like a particularly hungry goldfish. They said nothing for a second, waiting for her to call a joke.

  ‘Swear.’ She crossed her heart and hoped to die.

  Charlie almost ended up in the fireplace with the hullabaloo that broke out. Tara screamed and danced around the sofa and Debbie jumped up and down sending raspberry-red stains flying down her T-shirt.

  ‘Oh, my God. Start at the very beginning and don’t leave anything out,’ Debbie yelled.

  ‘OK, Friday night, where did you go and what were you wearing?’

  Tara, ever the lawyer, wanted it all ordered and neat.

  They sat for hours while she told them a very modem version of a fairy tale without the happy-ever-after ending, interrupting only once or twice to clarify a completely insignificant detail, as girl friends do.

  ‘You asked him to have sex with you,’ Tara kept repeating until Debbie nudged her impatiently.

  ‘What were your exact words?’ Typical Debbie, straight to the core. ‘Did anyone else hear? What was his immediate reaction? Were you scared he’d laugh at you, or even worse, say no?’

  ‘I didn’t really give myself time to think about it. I just fancied him and I wanted to have sex with someone other than Paul and we seemed to have a buzz going and I just didn’t want it to end.’

  ‘Yes, but my God, Chris Keating. Talk about going for gold.’ Tara still couldn’t take it in.

  ‘Well, no better way to forget sex with Paul than by having sex with one of Ireland’s most gorgeous men,’ Debbie grinned. ‘How did you know he wasn’t in a relationship, or did you even care, you brazen hussy?’