One Night Only

by Stewart, Lynsey M.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Skye tutted and held out her arms. ‘It means a love so strong it has the power to kill.’

  I screwed up my face. ‘Still doesn’t sound appealing.’

  ‘I don’t know!’ Skye laughed as Will looked on. ‘You’re the queen of weird analogies, work it out.’

  I pointed to my head. ‘Doesn’t have the capacity anymore.’

  ‘It’s worse than we thought,’ Will deadpanned.

  ‘Come here,’ Skye said, pushing my hair back behind my ears. ‘He seems really nice, looks good in a wetsuit, and he has a fit mate. It isn’t all bad.’

  ‘He does look good in a wetsuit.’

  ‘I don’t want you to get hurt but at the same time, I want you to have the love you’ve been craving,’ Skye said.

  ‘He isn’t always going to be an escort,’ Will replied.

  ‘I know, but isn’t that the point?’ I asked, watching him in the distance, missing him already. ‘He’s the right man…at the wrong time.’

  22

  Stacey

  I stood, holding out my hand. ‘You must be Sarah. It’s terrific to meet you.’

  ‘I recognised your hair first,’ she said, pointing to her own. ‘Beautiful.’

  ‘Thanks, Sarah! You can stay.’ She laughed as I indicated for her to sit down. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

  ‘Coffee, white with two sugars would be great.’

  I made my way to the counter and watched Sarah from the safety of the cakes. She was a classy lady with an edge of modern to her, wearing a leather jacket, skinny jeans, knee-high boots, and what looked like a cashmere sweater. It was camel in colour, with a chunky gold necklace to tie the look together. I already knew she was in her late fifties but would never have guessed, putting her at middle forties if I didn’t know her age. Her black hair was styled into a blunt bob and her wedding band caught the overhead lights, a beam of gold glinting brightly.

  ‘Here you go. Just as you like it.’ I put her coffee in front of her and sat down in the chair opposite.

  ‘Lovely. Thanks.’ She looked anxious, a wobbly smile breaking through slightly.

  ‘Don’t be nervous,’ I said as I searched through my bag for my phone.

  ‘This isn’t something I talk about regularly.’ She blew out a breath. ‘I don’t want you to think I’m ashamed or anything, but it’s hardly something you talk about over afternoon tea.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ve seen the article,’ I replied, trying to reassure. ‘We’ve both used Matt’s services, if that makes you feel any better.’ I ignored the pinch of my heart as I brushed off what Matt and I shared as a service. Like it was an oil change or fitting a new filter in the kettle.

  ‘I liked the article a lot,’ she said, taking a sip of coffee. ‘It was respectful but balanced with a cheekiness I can see fits your personality.’

  ‘It was a nightmare, Sarah. I wanted to give enough information but not too much, you know?’ She nodded. ‘Although it was something I chose to do for the article, there were aspects of that night I didn’t want to share with the world.’ I blew my tea. ‘Or my mother, to be exact.’

  She laughed as she clanked down her cup. ‘Bloody hell, that thought alone gives me the heebie-jeebies.’

  ‘Are you open about Matt with your family?’

  ‘Family, no, but some friends, yes.’

  ‘If you’re not ashamed of using an escort, why do you hide it?’ I asked.

  ‘It makes life easier. Other people have a problem with it, not me.’ I thought back to some of the emails I’d received since the article was published. The judgements and filthy name-calling. For some reason, it didn’t touch me. It was almost like I was secure in the knowledge that what we shared together didn’t resemble those dirty words and nasty assumptions.

  ‘I’ve had some backlash,’ I replied.

  ‘I’m sure. People can be cruel when they don’t understand something. I get that, I really do, but no one has the right to judge me when they haven’t walked in my shoes.’

  ‘Do you mind if I record this?’ I pointed to my phone as she grimaced.

  ‘It’s all very official, isn’t it?’

  ‘Helps me remember. I’ve got a mind like a sieve, Sarah, let me tell you.’

  ‘Go ahead,’ she replied. ‘I’m the same, although my brain has about, ooh, thirty years on yours.’

  ‘Let’s not dwell on that, shall we?’ I laughed. ‘Do you mind if I ask you a couple of sensitive questions?’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘I’m aware you lost your husband. I’m so sorry.’ She smiled but didn’t offer me more of her story. ‘Am I right in thinking that the main reason you started seeing Matt was because you missed the more intimate side of the relationship with him?’

  ‘Oh dear,’ she replied, shaking her head. ‘That all makes it sound rather cold, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘I had a wonderful marriage, Stacey, but it ended far too soon.’ I noticed her twisting her wedding ring with her thumb. ‘I took my time to grieve and swore off having another relationship. The thought of dating or using these apps. Urgh.’ She threw her hands up. ‘Minefield.’

  I smiled, understanding completely.

  ‘But, losing your husband in your early fifties is a strange place to be. Although I knew I didn’t want to meet anyone else, I missed intimacy. Sex. We’d always been very active in that department.’ She laughed to herself. ‘I wasn’t ready to retire my sexuality just yet.’

  ‘Why an escort?’ I asked.

  ‘It gave me anonymity and a straightforward, no feelings involved, way of having my needs met.’ She shrugged. ‘Simple as that.’

  ‘Why Matt?’

  The words left my mouth before I realised the potential for disaster. Did I really want to know? Could I handle it when I did?

  ‘I wasn’t looking for a younger man, if that’s what you’re asking. In fact, that was the last thing I wanted.’ She stirred her coffee. ‘I read his bio on the website and I liked the way it was worded. He made it clear that I was in control, if I didn’t want to go through with it, or I wasn’t comfortable, that was fine by him. It gave me an ease that I needed. He was true to his word when I chickened out on our first meeting.’ She grimaced and I followed suit. ‘He let me go and that was that.’

  ‘You didn’t find him physically attractive?’

  Don’t go there, Stace.

  ‘I’d be lying if I said I didn’t,’ she replied. ‘What woman my age would turn him down?’

  Try not to vomit in her coffee cup.

  ‘How did you feel on your first official date?’

  ‘Nervous.’ She laughed heartily and shook her head. ‘I kept wondering what the hell I was doing.’

  ‘Did he help you overcome that?’

  ‘Tremendously,’ she replied softly.

  ‘He’s a sweetheart,’ I replied.

  ‘He asked me about my husband and all the anxiety faded away,’ she replied. ‘It was like he knew exactly what I needed to feel comfortable.’

  I leant in, interested to know more. ‘Do you think your husband would approve?’

  ‘Russ?’ She laughed again. ‘He wouldn’t be shocked, let’s put it that way. He’s probably up there now saying, “Go on, girl.” Our sexual appetites matched. We liked to experiment. We went to a couple of sex clubs in London and introduced other people to our bedroom more than once.’

  She dropped her eyes to her cup. ‘You must think I’m a right goer,’ she said, rolling her eyes. ‘But you know what? I don’t care. I truly believe Russ would have given me his blessing to see Matt, and if I was the first one to go, I’d have given him mine, fully and completely.’

  ‘Good for you,’ I replied. ‘That’s such a fab attitude to have.’ I could almost forget that we were talking about Matt and embrace her beautiful view of her own sexuality. Almost. ‘You’re still young, Sarah. Just because your circumstances left you without your husband doesn’t mean your libido s
hould go with him.’

  ‘Oh, bloody hell, no,’ she replied. ‘If anything, it gets worse! I don’t know how Matt puts up with me.’

  ‘Oh. Really? Yes. I’m sure he’s’—I tried to think of the right word but got stuck on the whole the man-I-am-obsessed-with-is-sleeping-with-other-women thing—‘very supportive with that. Christ, I’m suddenly feeling very hot,’ I said. ‘Is it me or is it boiling in here?’

  I was almost certain I’d be seeing the contents of my stomach shortly.

  ‘He’s a young boy, though.’ She laughed and my world started to spin. ‘He has plenty of stamina but I’m sure you already know that.’

  ‘Oh fuck. I’m sorry, I can’t do this.’ I covered my ears with my hands. ‘Whoa, Sarah! We’re getting intense here. Woo! We really don’t have to talk about the sex, darlin’. I wouldn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. Gah! My mind’s gone proper blank. I really can’t think of any other questions.’

  She watched me with a fascination, her head tipped to the side. ‘I can see why he likes you so much.’

  ‘Sorry?’ I downed a bottle of water from my bag and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

  ‘He told me you were the most astonishing woman he’d ever met.’

  Right now, I was finding that hard to believe. ‘Was that before or after you had the sex?’ I whispered behind my hand. ‘I’m not really sure why he’s talking about me—’

  ‘He knew I was meeting you,’ she replied. ‘He was trying to prepare me for the interview, the questions you would ask. Trying to make me feel less nervous, bless him. I could tell from the way he was talking about you that there was something more.’

  ‘There isn’t,’ I said softly. ‘There can’t be. Because of this, because of you.’

  ‘Stacey, sweetheart, there’s nothing emotional between us. He’s always one step removed. Always. Don’t forget, I know what love really is. I was lucky enough to have it and I don’t get that from Matt, wouldn’t expect to. Although he’s great and treats me well, I know we would never be together in real life. It’s a job to him, I’m a job. I’m not stupid. I realise that.’

  ‘I legit can’t handle what he does,’ I replied, twisting my coffee cup in my hands. ‘I’m a mess, Sarah. Look at the state of me. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat. Look at my skin.’ I tilted my head up. ‘It’s trashed.’

  ‘You know, he’s not going to do this forever,’ she said, offering me a reassuring smile. ‘He’s training to be a psychologist and then he’ll stop—’

  ‘He needs the money to pay for the degree. He has three years left.’ I tapped my pencil across my notepad. ‘Three years, Sarah. That’s a lifetime.’ She sat back, pressing her hands together. ‘What am I doing? You’re here for an interview and I’m spouting off about myself. I’m sorry. Let’s get back to you.’

  I looked down at my list of questions and felt my stomach slip like a landslide. ‘I’ll just ignore the next question I have about how you feel after your dates…’

  She smiled tenderly. ‘I feel like me again, Stacey. That’s how I feel.’ Putting her hand on top of mine, she gave it a squeeze. ‘Shall we wrap it up here? I’m more than happy to put you out of your misery.’

  I laughed at that, wiping my nose with a napkin. ‘If you don’t mind.’

  She stood up and put her leather jacket back on. ‘If you need anything else from me, just give me a call.’

  ‘I will. Thank you.’

  ‘Oh, and Stacey?’ I looked up and bit my lip. ‘How does he make you feel?’

  I smiled softly, laughing a little at her direct question. ‘Like I’m precious,’ I replied. ‘Happy. Significant. Joyful.’ I took a breath and soon the words tumbled out naturally. ‘Adored. Desired. Safe. Wanted.’

  I curved my lip under my teeth as I thought back to every exchange, conversation, and moment I’d had with Matt. ‘Like I’m the most amazing woman in the world. I get this fizz of excitement in my stomach when I see him, and I just want to hold him and keep him and kiss him. Bloody hell, do I want to kiss him.’

  ‘Stacey, the story of your time with Matt is far more exciting than mine,’ she said. ‘You wanted to blow away the myths of escorting and the women who pay for sex? What better way of doing that than telling the story of how you fell in love?’

  ‘I’m not in love with him,’ I lied.

  She pointed to my mobile that was still recording our interview. ‘Play that back and tell me you’re not in love.’ She held her arms out to me, a smile playing on her face. I stood, immediately returning the hug. ‘You don’t need mine, or anyone else’s story. You have yours.’

  ‘I’ll think about everything you’ve said,’ I replied. ‘It’s been lovely to meet you.’

  She left not long after and I spent the rest of the evening sitting at my favourite table at Turnip The Beet, drinking copious amounts of coffee as I started doing what any well-respected journalist would do.

  Writing a list of pros and cons as to why I should be with Matt.

  The multiple pros far outweighed the one con.

  23

  Matt

  My aunty Jean was my only female role model after Mum died. They were sisters, far apart in age, but close in every other aspect. They shared the same brown hair and bright green eyes, and as a child, I loved seeing her because it felt I had my mum back, if only for a few hours a week. She’d always lived in Brighton, said she needed the sea air more than her own. After Mum died, Dad wanted to leave the seaside town I loved so much. He couldn’t handle the constant reminders and clouded memories of a marriage that no longer existed. We moved to our flat in London and that’s when the drinking began, the gambling following soon after. He wanted to get away from the memories but hated himself for doing so.

  I’d often stay with my aunt at weekends or during school holidays. I have nothing but great memories of my time with her and my cousin, Beth, who was like the sister I never had, because they gave me the reprieve I desperately needed. I could be a kid again, enjoy the trivial that should come with it. Roller skating, playing at the park, football matches, and chocolate cake were all I had to think about. She didn’t know the extent of Dad’s drinking, or how I’d become a carer for him overnight, but I did notice my visits to Brighton became more frequent and I liked to think she was protecting me in her own way.

  I’d lost my chance to tell her my story because she was trapped in a world of her own. Early onset dementia had taken her away from me.

  ‘Hey,’ Beth said as I peeked through to her room. You never knew what you were going to find, and I liked to prepare myself. I hadn’t been to the care home for a few weeks and I was ashamed to admit that my last visits had been short and sharp when my aunt failed to recognise me.

  ‘How are you?’ I said, pressing a kiss on Beth and then Aunty Jean’s cheek. She immediately looked up at and a smile formed. I took her hands. ‘Hi, Aunt Jean. It’s Matt.’

  ‘I know,’ she replied, laughing. I took a breath, letting my shoulders relax.

  ‘She’s having a good day today,’ Beth said. ‘Aren’t you, Mum?’

  She didn’t respond but her smile stayed. I put a bunch of flowers next to her on the table and she started running her fingers over the bright pink petals of the Gerberas, her favourite flower. She always had a vase full of them on her kitchen windowsill. They would be the first things I would see as I approached her front door.

  ‘How’s your dad?’

  ‘Good,’ I replied and for once, it wasn’t a lie. ‘He’s good.’

  ‘Need water,’ my aunt said timidly as she picked up the flowers.

  ‘I’ll get some,’ I said as Beth started to get up. I needed a coffee and this could be my detour to get one. ‘We can put them in a vase, can’t we? Make them look pretty.’

  I made my way down the corridor, passing the rooms of residents I’d gotten to know over the years. Families were crouched around beds; children were sitting on the floor, colouring, and teenagers were surgically att
ached to their phones. In one room, there was a lady wearing a baby pink jogging suit. Large gold hoops hung from her ears and she had a poster of a semi-naked David Beckham on her wall, bulge aplenty. A nurse was with her, laughing and talking. The noise was so powerful and unexpected that I couldn’t look away.

  ‘Isn’t he handsome?’ the nurse said as something large—burly, even—lapped up the attention. Sandy-coloured fur and a Union Jack collar that said Therapy dog came into view. A British Bulldog. Tongue out, heavy pants, and a roll onto his back had me laughing.

  ‘He’s fantastic,’ I said as they caught me at the door. ‘I wondered what all the laughing was about.’

  ‘He’s our therapy dog, aren’t you? The residents love him. Been coming for years.’ She tickled his belly. ‘Haven’t you, Reggie?’

  ‘Reggie?’ I asked. ‘My…friend…has a dog called Reggie.’

  A loud noise, not unlike the pull and play of an accordion bursting to life, took my attention away.

  ‘All right, ladies and gents. Any requests today? Fred, my darlin’. What can I play for you, my lovely?’

  ‘Do you know any from that ginger boy…Ed something?’ Laughter filled the space and I followed the voice I knew so well, slightly tipsy through shock. My heart was bursting through my t-shirt, a thud through the fabric, my bones, and my skin.

  ‘Fast or slow?’ The Essex twang I loved, belonging to the woman I was obsessed with, rang out. ‘He’s got some good tunes, Fred, but I need to know what you’re after.’

  ‘“Perfect,”’ I said, as I found her sitting on a high-backed chair, her red hair down and lovely, waves falling across her shoulders. ‘Play “Perfect.”’

  ‘She bloody does,’ an old fella said. ‘Cheeky git.’

  I laughed as her mouth dropped open, looking relaxed and at ease. A visual splendor. Her cream jumper fell off one shoulder, and her soft skin with the sharpness of her collarbone had me aching to kiss it. Skinny jeans and heels showed off the shape and length of her legs amazingly. There she was, my Stacey, with a huge whopping accordion balancing on her knee.