Part 11 (2/2)

'Thank you.'

'Shame Stevie wasn't keen on oysters.'

'Yes. What a waste.'

'Nice enough guy, though, wouldn't you say?' Silence. 'A bit shy perhaps, or do you think he was just nervous?'

'Why would he be nervous?' snaps Bella.

'Well, it's never easy meeting your partner's old friends and we're all protective of Laura. It must be the equivalent of meeting the parents.'

'Oh.'

'Did you like him?' I pursue.

'Didn't really get a chance to talk to him.'

'He mentioned that he went to university in Scotland. Do you-'

'There are lots of universities in Scotland. What makes you think he went to mine?'

'Darling, I know Scotland's a big place, not a village. I was just going to ask whether you'd discovered which one.'

Bella can be very tetchy about English ignorance of all things Scottish, and the general a.s.sumption that everyone in Scotland must know everyone else as it's such a parochial place. I change the subject. 'Good-looking chap.'

'Is he?'

'Come on, you must have noticed.' I squeeze her b.u.m playfully. I have no problem with her noticing good-looking men, any more than she has with me noticing cute ladies. We're married, which means we're bound but not blind. 'Laura certainly thinks so. She's ga-ga about him.'

'Well, that's what counts.'

Bella still has her back to me and it seems that, despite my best efforts, she is not going to enter into a conversation. I could ask her outright what is bothering her but I know that the one thing guaranteed to make Bella close down is confrontation. Instead, I pursue a more convoluted route. 'I wonder if he plays golf.'

'No, he doesn't.'

'How do you know?'

'I... don't. I'm guessing. He doesn't look the golfing type.'

'He lived in Scotland for a while, there's a better than average chance that he plays. I'll ask him if he wants a round at my club.'

'Why?'

'To be friendly. You and Laura could go shopping one Sat.u.r.day afternoon, like you used to, and Stevie and I could play golf.'

'I don't think that's a good idea.'

'Why not?'

'They may not last.'

'Well, if they don't I won't be heartbroken if I lose a new golf pal, and if they do last it would be nice to know him better.'

'Just leave it, Philip,' snips Bella, and she turns to me. 'Just leave it.' Her face, normally so composed, is sizzling with irritation.

'Why don't you like him?' I ask.

'I don't dislike him.' Bella stretches across me and turns off the bedside light. 'I have a headache. Can we just go to sleep now?'

I lie in the darkness counting on my fingers how far away from Bella's period we are. Never before have I encountered such a ferocious bout of PMT.

22. Love Me Tender.

Laura.

Stevie and I put Amelie into the first cab that comes along, then flag down a second one, only minutes later. We sit in the darkness and silence and, while I can't quite put my finger on why, I know that the dinner party was not a success. Bella had made a huge effort, there's no denying that. The menu was exquisite, as were the floral arrangements and her new dress. Perhaps that was what had caused the tension. Stevie must think my friends are completely ra-ra. I wish she'd opted for fish and chips or an Indian takeaway. I don't want to be ungrateful but her full-on 'hostess with the mostest' act rarely makes for a convivial evening.

Amelie wasn't herself either. She's been a real doll to me lately but there's friction between her and Bella. Twice tonight I saw Bella flash daggers at her and Amelie was really niggly and nit-picking with Bella. They are usually bosom buddies. Only Philip was his usual warm and relaxed self.

I steal a glance at Stevie and sigh inwardly. That was the worst of it. Stevie clearly didn't enjoy himself much. He drank too much and was monosyllabic most of the evening. I'm partly disappointed for him, that he didn't click with my mates, and partly irritated with him, for not understanding that Bella was trying her hardest. Couldn't he be a bit more perceptive? Couldn't he have told some of his funny tales or blue jokes and broken the ice?

He's leaning his head against the cab window, he appears mesmerized by the lights of London whizzing by. Is he bored, exhausted or just p.i.s.sed? I wish I didn't care as much as I do. I should hold back and be all calm, cool and collected, sophisticated to the point of quasi-indifference. But then, it's a bit late for all that. I've slept with him. Last night I screamed and moaned enough to wake the dead and I didn't even have to fake it. It's unlikely that I can conjure up indifference now.

I'd waited so long for that first lip-kiss. I'd waited since he kissed me on the cheek on Hammersmith platform and I'd waited for thirty years before that. A kiss can mean so much or nothing at all. It amazes me that they are so varied and important. A kiss can be a way to say h.e.l.lo or goodbye. It can be an act of devotion or deceit. It can calm, comfort or arouse. The gentle kiss delivered on Hammersmith platform, a phut sound of his plump lips touching my cheek, was alarmingly ambiguous. Was the kiss one that meant the world to me but little to him? Or was it an opener? The phut sound had stayed with me and buoyed me up for three barren weeks, when sometimes I was afraid that our relations.h.i.+p would never be anything more than that d.a.m.ning epitaph of 'just good friends'. On Friday night, when he finally kissed me on the lips, the gentle phut sound was blasted away by the non-ambiguous force of a long, pa.s.sionate, involved kiss.

His kisses were soft and careful. I responded eagerly; gently but decisively taking the kiss up a gear, I chewed and nibbled his lips and probed with my tongue. He softly kissed my jaw, my neck and my ears, which made me feel like a teenager, never a bad thing. It's surprising how, generally, men neglect kissing and yet it can be the most charged and erotic preamble. Stevie intuitively knew this; his kisses were diverse in intensity, he moved through the spectrum of polite to powerful, teasing to tenacious. I pushed my body close in to his. With my b.o.o.bs squashed against his chest, I wondered if he could feel my hard nipples through my bra and clothes. I wondered if I dared lunge for his d.i.c.k. Surprisingly, I did not feel nervous, anxious or inadequate a state in which I'd existed more-or-less permanently since I split from Oscar I felt charged, excited and curious.

He stroked my hair, he ran his fingers down my outer thighs and up my inner, pausing, hovering above my rudest bits. Drawing out the pleasure. He trailed his fingers down my shoulders and the length of my arms. He ran his touch over my ribs, my a.r.s.e, my hip bone. His touch invited my confidence, stoked my desire and left me dizzy and energized with l.u.s.t. His touch mended, calmed and rea.s.sured me. Then suddenly, he changed pace. He darted for my s.h.i.+rt and swiftly popped the b.u.t.tons; one, two, three, four. I remember thinking it was a practised thumb and forefinger that managed such a swift disrobing but the thought didn't alarm me, it sparked more longing. I wanted his expert thumbs and fingers all over me. He sprang the b.u.t.tons on my jeans with similar speed and confidence and I willingly slithered out of them. Within seconds he whipped his T-s.h.i.+rt over his head and his jeans were around his ankles.

He pulled me to my feet and hurriedly edged me towards the living-room wall. Pa.s.sively I allowed him to lead me, enjoying the sensation of someone else taking control for a while. His fingers edged my tarty knickers to one side and slipped inside my body. His cool fingers chilled my hot flesh and for one crazy moment he seemed to be part of me. A missing part that my body had secretly craved forever. The pleasure was astounding. I came almost instantly.

I grabbed, kissed and licked wherever I could reach. His lips, his hair, his shoulders. My fingers shot towards his d.i.c.k which was now standing proud and magnificent. I slipped out of my knickers as he slipped into a condom, and then I guided him into me. I stared into his eyes and he stared back, never losing me. Not for a moment. It felt incredible. It felt imperative. It felt perfect.

We did it again, after food, this time in the comfort of my bed. A bed that I'd once slept in with Oscar but I've buried his ghost as it's taken me twenty-four hours to stumble upon this realization. We had fierce and fast s.e.x. We had ambling and lingering s.e.x. I came again and then again. He seemed to adore me. His kisses felt like wors.h.i.+p on my s.e.xy bits and he kissed my untoned bits and my saggy bits with the same enthusiasm. He also delighted in the squeaky sounds that escaped my mouth when I was overcome with pleasure. He laughed at the squelchy sounds our bodies made as they bashed up against one another in sticky wantonness.

When we were both completely wasted, spent and sore, we nuzzled into one another allowing our bodies to mesh and melt. Despite the heat we did not want to be apart. Stevie grinned and gazed at me. His eyes were unfocused, a consequence of pa.s.sion and tiredness.

'Laura, I am so lucky I found you. So, so, so lucky,' he laughed in a whisper. They were the last words I heard before I fell asleep.

That was yesterday.

This is today. Today, the best I can hope for is keeping my desperation at bay. I want to retain my independence and allure. The cab pulls up outside my flat. I gather up my bag and take an extraordinarily long time zipping up my hoody. Stevie doesn't look as though he's going to budge.

<script>