by Fay Keenan
‘Come back up here,’ Charlie murmured. His voice was husky. ‘I want to feel all of you.’
Obligingly, Holly returned to the top of the bed and gasped as Charlie pulled her close, wrapping himself around her. The weight of his body was utterly divine. There was little between them now, and little else to say. As Charlie’s hand slid between her parted thighs and began to caress her, sliding warm fingers inside her while finding the absolute centre of her pleasure with his thumb, Holly felt the long, rolling tingle becoming deeper, more insistent, until she was riding a long wave of climax that throbbed and beat insistently within her and made stars explode behind her eyes.
It was an easy matter to keep that feeling going as, after a moment’s break to slip on a condom, Charlie bridged the last, most significant gap. His length inside her, his long, almost languid thrusts, gave way to a more intense and frenetic rhythm as he reached towards his own beating climax. As he came, he raised his head and looked her deeply in the eyes. ‘I think I love you, Holly Renton,’ he said in his most unguarded, most vulnerable moment.
‘I think I love you too, Charlie Thorpe,’ Holly replied. ‘Lovely, lovely Charlie.’
They collapsed beside each other in the moonlit darkness of Holly’s bedroom. Arthur, who’d waited decorously on the windowsill, slunk in through the window and settled himself at the foot of the bed with a rumbling purr.
‘What a day,’ Charlie murmured, pulling Holly close so that her head was resting on his chest. Idly, she played with the curls she found there as he caressed the back of her neck.
‘Well, they say that Willowfest causes all kinds of energies to be heightened,’ Holly said. ‘And it’s certainly worked wonders for you.’ She propped herself up on one elbow to get another look at him. Post-climax, Charlie was a sight to behold; hair ruffled, five-o’clock shadow on his face and lazy, sleepy, liquid brown eyes, looking at her as though she was the only person in the world. She suddenly felt a great rush of love for him. She couldn’t imagine, now they’d found each other, ever being without him.
She shook her head in bewilderment. No one had ever affected her like this. She felt punch-drunk with love, fuzzy with contentment. And she was pretty sure it wasn’t just the utterly mind-blowing sex that was making her feel that way.
‘I overheard Alan Somerville talking to some groupies about the benefits of tantric sex earlier this afternoon,’ Charlie said, a sudden twinkle in his sleepy dark eyes. ‘But I doubt even he’s had it as good as that just was. Did you slip something in my glass of mead?’
Holly laughed. ‘As if I would!’ She leaned down and kissed him, a gentle, sated contact that seemed to seal things. ‘This is all just you and me. Although I’ve got some gingko biloba downstairs if you start to flag.’
‘As if!’ Charlie snorted. ‘I’ll have you know, MPs are well known for their staying power in the chamber… and in other areas.’
‘Looking at some of your colleagues, that’s not exactly a very sexy image,’ Holly laughed. ‘Although it’s nice to know you’re all having, er, as much fun as we just had.’
‘You’d better believe it,’ Charlie said, burying his lips in Holly’s neck. ‘And I’m definitely up for another round, if you are.’
Holly’s laugh turned into a sigh as Charlie’s mouth and fingers started to work their magic again.
By the time they fell asleep, dawn was starting to creep like a cat after a mouse across the grey blue night sky, Arthur had retreated to the comfort of the cushion on Holly’s bedroom chair and both Holly and Charlie felt more relaxed than they had in a very long time.
‘I love you, Charlie,’ Holly murmured as sleep finally overtook her.
As they both rested, the cold moon, ever the voyeur, stared through the open bedroom curtains and cast the inhabitants of the bed in a silvery light.
29
If he could dance like Justin Timberlake, he’d so be strutting his stuff right now, Charlie thought as he headed back down the street from Holly’s flat and home for a shower and a change of clothes. By rights, after festivalling all day and making love all night, he should be knackered, but he felt revitalised, energised, and as if he could do it all over again. The latter, he thought, he’d certainly have no problem repeating. As often as possible. At all times of the day and night. In fact, he was only going home to finish up a few bits of paperwork and then he’d agreed to meet Holly on the Willowbury Hill for another picnic that afternoon.
How things had changed since his move to Willowbury! When he’d arrived, he’d been a rookie MP with no idea how to reconcile his day job and his actual day-to-day life in the place. Admittedly, there had been a few hiccups along the way, but now he finally felt as though he was gaining some ground, making things work.
And Holly had been a revelation. The sunshine on his back as he headed up the High Street was a warm reminder of everything she’d done for him; the light she had shone, and continued to shine, on his life. As he’d got to know her better, his own confidence had increased, and, although it might just be the hormones talking after a night of making love, he felt as though he could take on the world.
Wishing a good morning to a somewhat surprised Mrs Holderness, out early with her two Border collies, he walked down the garden path to his house and fumbled in his pocket for his keys. Once through the door, the coolness of the stone hallway brought him up short. The house, unlived in since Friday evening, and even then only briefly, smelt still and almost damp, in spite of the warm weather outside.
As he wandered through the hallway and into the kitchen, he realised with a start that he’d yet again left his bag on the scrubbed oak kitchen table instead of putting it safely away in the study. Smiling to himself, he remembered just how desperate he’d been to get over to Holly’s place on Friday evening and how he had literally just dropped everything and dashed over there. Seeing his bag there, though, brought him back down to earth; he still had a mountain of work to do and he needed to be on the evening train back to London, too.
Resolving to bash on through what needed to be done and then get back to Holly as soon as he could, figuring he could sleep on the train later, he pulled the buff-coloured document wallet out of his bag and settled down at the kitchen table for a quick scan through before he made himself a coffee. The documents were all the usual stuff: requests from constituents for meetings, a couple of lobbyists representing various industries and, his heart turned over, a reminder about his scheduled question at Prime Minister’s Question Time that coming Wednesday.
Charlie hoped his father and mother, two long-serving doctors, both of whom had worked until their retirement in the same GP practice in the village in Yorkshire where he’d been brought up, would be proud of the stand he was taking on the cystic fibrosis drug-funding issue. He’d always had a keen ear for the changes in policy of successive governments around the NHS. Although the medical side of health was a mystery to him, the funding and maintenance side was an area he was endlessly fascinated by, and one of the reasons he’d gone into politics was to get the inside track on how the NHS could be made to work more effectively, but not at the cost of its patients.
Being a pragmatist, he understood the tension between economic decisions and political ones; but his abiding political passion was to try to bring a balance to the opposing forces of public healthcare and economic reality. He was a believer in balancing the books but also had enough compassion and sense of social justice to know that sometimes human considerations had to come first. Asking this question in such a public forum, hopefully making himself known to the Department of Health and Social Care, with a view to representing his party on a committee within it, was a decent first step for someone who hadn’t been in the post that long. He recalled what one of the more senior ministers had warned him and the new intake at the last orientation session, that to be seen as too assertive too quickly could be a bad thing; that there was no room in politics for ‘rock stars or crusaders’, but Charlie put that warning aside for
the moment. He didn’t feel as though he was overstepping his mark, yet. But after Wednesday, who knew?
Across the village, Holly contemplated the shadows of her leaded windows that were playing over her bedroom ceiling as her curtains flapped in the morning breeze. She should be fast asleep, after the day and night she’d had with Charlie, but she felt alive, buzzing with anticipation. She couldn’t wait to see him again. Last night had felt so incredible; they’d unleashed something together that she imagined she’d never want to be without. The sensations of his hands and mouth on her had awakened a desire stronger than anything she’d ever experienced before, and their lovemaking had been exquisite. Who’d have thought the local MP would have so much passion in him?
The ping of her mobile phone brought her somewhat reluctantly out of this daydream, and she reached for it where it lay on her bedside table. Expecting it to be from Charlie, she was tickled to see a message from Rachel.
Hope you made a night of it! Here’s that picture I took of you and C before it all got too messy. Xxx
Holly smiled as she saw a snapshot of herself and Charlie, arms around each other, grinning from ear to ear. Rachel had taken it shortly before she and Harry had called it a night, in between the folk bands and Alan Somerville’s final, rather louder set. They both looked lit up from within, and Charlie looked more relaxed than she’d ever seen him. Then, peering at the background of the shot, she noticed with an even bigger smile that little Harry had photobombed, peering out from behind Charlie with a huge, cheeky grin on his face. Typical Harry, Holly thought. It was so easy to look at that photo and remember that Harry was still a normal three-year-old, away from all of the drugs and the uncertainties. He still loved the same things, had the same energies as any other child. And Holly loved him all the more fiercely for it. Despite everything, all of the challenges, it was moments like the one in the photo that made everything worth it.
Still grinning, Holly texted a quick reply, thanking Rachel for the photo but not wanting to reveal what else had happened after the music had stopped. There would be plenty of time for a catch up later in the week, when they were on the train to London to see Charlie in action at Prime Minister’s Questions. For the moment, the blissful night was her and Charlie’s alone.
30
After grabbing a quick shower and raiding her fridge for things to put in her picnic basket, Holly tied her hair back in a loose ponytail and headed down to the shop. The shop was normally closed on Sundays, but she’d made an exception for Willowfest and decided to keep it open until lunchtime. By then, most of the incomers to the festival would be making their way home.
As she unlocked the front door and wedged it open with the doorstop, she glanced out into the High Street and was pleased to see that quite a few people were out and about this Sunday morning. She waved at a couple of people she knew, and smiled to see the nun was in her usual position, bright and early, handing out sandwiches from her cool box to those who might have a real need of them.
It never ceased to amaze her how many people of different faiths and persuasions could live peacefully side by side in Willowbury. The place was a microcosm of harmony and contentment, and ever since she’d made it her home, she’d felt more and more at peace with herself. Perhaps there was something in the ley lines theory, after all, she thought.
Of course, taking Charlie to her bed last night may well have coloured her emotions in a rosier light this morning, too. They had been a revelation together, and mentally she high-fived her nineteen-year-old self for her good taste, if caution, all those years ago.
She stretched her arms above her head, and wandered to the shop counter, where she opened up the till and glanced at the notes Isabella had made yesterday. All seemed to have gone well, and as she looked at the booking log for massages, Isabella had even booked in a couple more for her for next week. That side of the business seemed to be taking off nicely. In fact, for once, all of the stars seemed to be in alignment.
Shortly before lunchtime, her mobile pinged again. Glancing at the screen, her heart lurched as she saw it was another message from Rachel, of which she could only see the first half of until she swiped it. She didn’t waste any time. Heart beating faster, she digested the news that Harry had woken up late, and under the weather, and so Rachel had zipped him up to the Bristol Royal Children’s Hospital.
So far, as a combination of Rachel’s brilliant management of Harry’s condition and an enormous stroke of serendipity, Harry had avoided an extended hospital stay. He had to go to the Children’s Hospital every eight weeks for a check-up, to test his lung function and for a battery of blood tests, as well as a general health check, and he’d passed his last one with flying colours. However, he’d been a little under the weather recently since he’d picked up a cold from nursery and unfortunately that didn’t seem to be shifting. Rachel, Holly knew, would have been careful to ensure Harry didn’t over exert himself at Willowfest, but that, combined with the remnants of the cold, had seemingly affected him more than Rachel had anticipated. While children without CF would be poorly but recover quickly, the antibiotics hadn’t quite worked soon enough this time, and the hospital wanted to keep him in for observation.
Do you need anything?
Holly texted her sister but was relieved when the reply came back in a minute or two. Rachel had enough clothes and supplies for a few days, and was apologetic she was going to miss her lunchtime shifts at ComIncense on Monday and Tuesday. Texting her a reassuring reply, Holly tried not to worry. Harry was so little, and cystic fibrosis was such an unforgiving condition; the unfairness of it all took her own breath away when things like this happened. But thinking like that would get her nowhere, and there was still today’s morning trade, and the lunchtime picnic with Charlie, to think about.
‘Good morning,’ she said as a customer, obviously an incomer for Willowfest, came through the front door of the shop. He looked knackered, a bit grubby, as if he’d slept out under the stars instead of actually in his tent in the field behind the Priory last night, but curiously at peace.
‘Blessed be,’ he ventured shyly.
Holly smiled. It was no surprise, looking around at the shop, that customers often assumed she was a practising Pagan – especially with the long hair and the flowery dress, she thought. ‘And to you,’ she said. She wasn’t really in the frame of mind to set him right. ‘Is there anything I can help you with?’
‘I’d love some of those beeswax candles to take back home with me for my altar,’ he said as he wandered over to the corner where Holly had created a display of them, all sourced from a local hive owner just outside Cheddar.
‘Sure,’ Holly replied. ‘Just select the ones you want and I’ll wrap them for you.’ She grabbed her roll of tissue paper from under the counter and, when the customer brought over his selection, she began to wrap them. She was so engrossed, she didn’t notice until she looked up again that there was someone else the other side of the counter; Charlie.
‘Hey,’ she said. ‘You’re a bit early.’
‘Couldn’t keep myself away,’ he said huskily.
The customer coughed discreetly. ‘Er… how much do I owe you?’
‘Oh, yes, right.’ Holly rang in the figures and hurriedly took the proffered debit card for a contactless payment. ‘This still feels like the real magic,’ she quipped, as the payment went through with a wave of the card near the reader. Slipping the candles into one of her recycled brown paper bags, she handed them over to the customer, who bid his goodbyes and then left.
Charlie gave her a suggestive smile. ‘Is it wrong to get turned on looking at you handling those candles?’
Holly laughed. ‘I’d say you’re flattering yourself, but I know, after last night, that you’re not!’
Charlie pulled her close. ‘Well, if you say it, then it must be true.’
They kissed for a moment, but, mindful she was keeping the shop open and anyone could come walking through the door, Holly broke the embrace.
‘Behave. Or I’ll have to spank you with one of my larger lavender and heather sprigs.’
‘Promises, promises,’ Charlie grinned. ‘Didn’t you know politicians are well known for their… interests?’
‘I didn’t realise S&M was one of yours,’ Holly said. ‘Fifty Shades of Westminster?’ She pushed him away playfully. ‘If you’re not busy, you can go and wait in the flat if you want. I’m keeping this place open until twelve o’clock and then we can head out for our picnic.’
‘I’ll head off to Jack’s for a coffee, if he’s opened up this morning,’ Charlie replied. ‘Shall I come back after twelve?’
When she didn’t respond immediately, Charlie took her hand. ‘Is everything OK?’
Holly shook her head, as if shaking away her concerns about Harry; not that they ever truly went away. ‘I’m fine, honestly. It’s just that Rachel’s had to take Harry up to Bristol Children’s Hospital this morning, and it’s the first time he’s been admitted properly. I guess I’m a bit shell-shocked.’
‘He seemed so well yesterday when we bumped into them at the Priory in the afternoon,’ Charlie said. ‘You know, all things considered.’
‘He’s like any other child, mostly,’ Holly replied. ‘Except that he can go downhill quickly when he has an illness. Rachel thought they’d nipped the chest infection in the bud with the antibiotics, but I’m guessing being out and about for Willowfest was a bit much for him after being confined to barracks all week.’
‘Will he be all right?’ Charlie asked. ‘I mean, how long will he have to stay in the BRHC?’
‘Could be a couple of days, could be a week or more,’ Holly said. ‘If it’s any longer than a day or two, I’ll head up there in the evenings and keep Rachel company. She’ll be going stir-crazy after a while.’ She shook her head. ‘If only those new drugs had been given the go-ahead, this kind of stuff could be sorted out quickly.’ She looked at him keenly. ‘Five days in hospital on an antibiotic IV drip and the costs will start racking up. Sometimes these decisions on drugs seem so short-sighted.’