The Mini-Break Page 8

  In just a few minutes Ivy was in the back on a stretcher with Joe following in his Land Rover. They left the house, making their way back up the lane, the vehicle lights rocking as they negotiated the ruts and piles of snow. At last the lights of the two vehicles disappeared altogether and there was nothing out there again but a deep, dark silence.

  I closed the front door and went to put some more wood on the fire. I sat on the sofa in front of the blaze, huddled in a blanket I found on the back of a chair. What should I do now? I couldn’t walk home, and even if I was daft enough to try I couldn’t leave the house unlocked. They might be hours, or even days. I had no idea. I had nothing with me except some breath mints and a lipstick. Should I stay here or find a bedroom?

  I felt so helpless and so sorry for the little girl. And for Joe, my heart went out to him. This was what happened when you were a parent. The terrible fears and worries that presumably never ended.

  Kids were a pain; everyone knew that. Why did anyone bother having them? We’d all heard people moaning about their children. They had tantrums in supermarkets and made unreasonable demands. They got addicted to computer games and sent photos of their bits to each other. They kicked back and became sullen and uncommunicative. They lied and nicked stuff and rebelled.

  But now I began to wonder; there must also be a bond, unbreakable and true. A love that should be unbreakable anyway. Otherwise what was the point? Wasn’t that what families were all about? I thought about my parents, a couple who had argued since the day they met but obviously really loved each other and after forty-three years still couldn’t bear to be apart. And Jassy, maddening at times but kind, loyal and sometimes too honest for comfort. There was no doubt we shared a sisterly love.

  It wasn’t the sort of fleeting, perishable thing I felt for Benedict. Not the casual, designer-decorated love he had declared for me with expensive jewellery and unexpected Bollinger when he won in court.

  I went out to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. I sat at the table while the sheepdogs slumbered on and the cat – after giving me a filthy look – forced its way between them.

  I suddenly realised this house was a place filled with love. There were pictures taped to the fridge, photos of Ivy dressed in riding gear. Ivy at the seaside. Ivy in school uniform. There were things in the fridge for her packed lunches, on the table was a wooden bowl filled with her hair scrunchies and ribbons. Her mug, decorated with ponies and IVY painted on the front was upended on the draining board waiting for her return.

  I thought about all the awful things that meningitis could cause. For the first time in many years I closed my eyes and I prayed.

  *

  Just after seven o’clock the next morning Joe came home. I had been asleep on the sofa in the sitting room, covered by a blanket. I woke as he came in and stood up. He looked at me and smiled.

  ‘You’re still here. I’m glad.’

  I hardly dared to ask. ‘Well? How’s Ivy?’

  ‘I’m sorry I had to abandon you like that – I wasn’t thinking.’

  ‘It’s fine, I’m fine. But Ivy?’

  ‘They say she’s going to pull through,’ he said. He rubbed his hands over his face. His voice was just a bit wobbly. ‘I had a long chat with the doctor and they caught it in time. She’s on an antibiotic drip. She’s sleeping but she’s going to be fine. I’ve just come back for an hour’s sleep and then I’ll take her some clean clothes and a few of her things.’

  ‘Oh, Joe, thank God!’

  He pulled me into his arms and hugged me. A proper man hug that was unexpected and wonderful. I relaxed against him and I heard him give a shaky laugh, a sound that rumbled through his chest. He rested his chin on the top of my head.

  ‘Thank you, Louisa – if you hadn’t been here I don’t know what I would have done. I don’t know what would have happened. I can’t bear to think about it.’

  ‘Are you okay? Do you want anything? A cup of tea?’

  He leaned back and looked down at me and then suddenly his expression changed. I felt his arms tighten around me.

  ‘I don’t … I can’t …’

  And then he kissed me.

  I could feel him trembling.

  I felt the hardness of his muscles against me and for a moment I was distinctly wobbly too. He was more marvellous and gentle than any man I had known and the feel of his hands on me left me breathless.

  At last he pulled back and buried his face in my hair.

  ‘Louisa, what are we doing?’ he said.

  ‘I don’t know, I don’t know,’ I said, and I clung to him.

  It was the drama of it all, the fear he had felt through the night as Ivy battled. I’d heard about this sort of thing. It had happened in at least two of my books. A life-changing event: the death of a parent (I Know Everything) or the aftermath of a tsunami (Five Miles to Midnight) brought on this sort of emotional reaction. I’d read somewhere that this sort of thing led to unplanned sex, unexpected pregnancy and all sorts of turmoil. There was a proper term for it but I couldn’t remember it. All I knew was I really, really didn’t want him to stop. And I wanted more. A lot more.

  Oh yes, now I remembered. Comfort sex, that was it.

  I shouldn’t be doing this. I really shouldn’t.

  But he held out his hand to me and I took it. He led me to the bottom of the beautiful, carved staircase and I followed him. We went upstairs and into his bedroom and I went willingly. I could hardly wait.

  He didn’t turn the light on in his room but the curtains were still open and the early dawn light, reflected off the snow outside, was brightening the room.

  I unbuttoned his shirt. I put my hands flat against his warm chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under my fingers.

  ‘Louisa,’ he whispered, his breath warm on my face, ‘I haven’t done this for a very long time.’

  ‘What? Taken your shirt off?’ I whispered back.

  He laughed and I breathed in the scent of him. Masculine and strong, a mixture of soap and the cold morning air.

  I dropped his shirt onto the floor and ran my hands over his arms and his shoulders. He shivered with pleasure and I felt his fingers pressing into my back.

  ‘I mean this,’ he said.

  ‘But you can’t have forgotten. It’s like riding a bike isn’t it?’ I said.

  He kissed my eyelids very gently. ‘It’s nothing like riding a bike.’

  Slowly at first and then with increasing urgency we discovered each other. His mouth touching my cheek, my neck, my breast. I pushed my hands into his warm hair and held his head as he softly bit my shoulder, his mouth tracing the hollow of my throat.

  His hands explored my body, touching and teasing and I felt my heart thudding as he stirred sensations in me that I hadn’t expected. I twisted in his arms, hungry for more, and he pushed me down on the bed, his mouth on mine. Outside the sun rose above the snowy fields and at last he was where I wanted him to be. Near me, above me, inside me.

  Just for a moment there was nothing but his need for me. My need for him. Being together, turning my body with his. Meeting him and matching him.

  I had written about moments like this.

  So many times.

  But never understood how it felt.

  I’d been pretending. I’d been wrong. I’d been blind.

  *

  He pulled the quilt over us and held me then for a long time, his arms comforting and warm.

  ‘Louisa,’ he said at last and he kissed my hair.

  No one had called me Louisa for years. No one had ever said my name quite like he did.

  ‘I’m so glad,’ I said.

  He chuckled. ‘Which particular bit are you glad about?’

  ‘I’m glad about Ivy, that she is going to be okay. I’m glad about—’

  What could I say?

  ‘I’m glad about this.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘I’m sure. Aren’t you?’

  He laughed then. ‘Of course!’<
br />
  I felt a sudden chill of something.

  Of course, he had said. Of course he was all right. Why wouldn’t he be?

  He had found a willing sexual partner to help relieve the stress and tension of the last few hours. His mind had been on his daughter; he’d had a terrible time.

  Of course. Worried sick about Ivy and when he got home, crazy with lack of sleep and anxiety, I’d been there, pulling his clothes off. What a tart.

  What day was it? Saturday? Thursday? Wednesday?

  ‘I’m going back to London today,’ I said, ‘if I can get the car as far as the road.’

  ‘I’ll help you,’ he said.

  Yes.

  I moved out of his arms and wrapped myself in a blanket, suddenly shy.

  ‘How long will Ivy be in hospital?’

  I looked around for my hastily discarded clothes: my shirt on the landing outside the bedroom, my trousers on the floor, my knickers on the windowsill.

  ‘I don’t know yet. She’ll be there for a while I expect. I’ll find out more later when I go to see her.’

  ‘You must be exhausted,’ I said.

  He looked it. His face was dark with stubble and there were shadows under his eyes.

  He ran one hand through his hair. ‘You could say that.’

  ‘I must go home and let you sleep.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I’ll take you.’

  I wanted to be able to say, No don’t worry, I’ll walk, but of course I had no idea how far it was or which way to go. And I could hardly ring for a taxi. And was he sorry I was going or sorry he had to drive me?

  I scrambled into my clothes and went downstairs to wait for him. Five minutes later we were outside and on our way back to Barracane House. The snow was dazzling in the early morning sunlight, glittering and glorious. But it was thawing. There were patches of mud on the lane where the Land Rover had churned up the snow. We got to the house and I could see that my car had shed its layer of snow already and as the sun rose, melted snow was dripping off the bumpers. I’d get out of here if it killed me.

  He stilled the furious noise of the car engine.

  ‘If you have trouble, I’ll give you a hand. I’ll come back on my way to the hospital to make sure you’re not having any problems. Is that all right?’

  ‘Of course. Tell Ivy she’s very brave.’

  He leaned forward to kiss my cheek, a moment that was somehow awkward. Why had I done this? Why had I been so easy, so terribly available? Was it because he was different from all the men I had ever met? Not just because his shoulders had been broad and hard under my hands and his skin had been warm and scented with the sweetness of hay. Something between us was unlike anything I’d ever known. The emotion had been deeper and more meaningful. I couldn’t understand it. I needed to think.

  I went into the house and closed the door behind me and let out a manic scream of frustration.

  Damnation.

  *

  I changed the bed, washed the sheets and left them to dry in the utility room. Then I hoovered, dusted, washed up the mugs and plates I’d used and put everything away. It was as though I wanted to hide the fact that I had ever been there.

  I was packed up and ready to go within a couple of hours. I scoured every room for my stuff. Books, paperwork, notes on my floundering plot. My laptop and chargers. I emptied the waste paper basket and put my recycling out into the right bins.

  Then I realised I was sweating and needed a shower. If nothing else I wanted to wash away the reek of sex and Joe and change all my clothes again. I almost felt like throwing them away with all the empty wine bottles and plastic food trays.

  I had to leave soon though; if Joe was going to return I didn’t want him to find me here. He’d want to come in and talk to me and tell me about Ivy and then he might kiss me again and then who knows how I would resist him?

  I wouldn’t, I know I wouldn’t. He’d look at me with those beautiful blue eyes and I’d have my knickers off in double quick time. How shaming. The very thought of him feeling me, touching me, offering me his body, licking and tasting his …

  Shut the fuck up FFS! Shut up! Just Shut Up!

  I was in a committed relationship. I was with Benedict. Our friends called us Benedict-and-Lulu, almost as though we were an entity – that’s how we were. I’d thought our relationship was different. For want of a better word, more permanent. I made myself think about him and just for one crazy moment I couldn’t remember what Benedict looked like. Yes of course I could. Tall, lean, dark-eyed, good-looking with a broad grin that could be cheeky, occasionally sexy.

  I remembered being with him in Edinburgh for Hogmanay, at Ascot when he had to pull one of my stilettos out of the turf. Yes he could be fussy about food but I made myself remember his enjoyment of life, fine wine, the life and soul of many parties. A liking for handmade suits and silk ties. A weakness for Swiss chocolate. I felt quite sentimental, and sad knowing something in me had changed. If he knew what I’d done …

  I was ashamed of myself. And astonished that I could behave like this.

  I got my stuff out to the car and wedged everything in as best I could and prayed for the car to start and get me out of here.

  Twenty rather hair-raising minutes later I reached the main road. I seemed to be the only traveller risking the gritted roads. Occasionally I passed a lorry or a milk tanker and by the time I reached the motorway the roads were clear and wet and pointing reassuringly towards London.

  *

  I got back to Notting Hill at nearly four o’clock. The flat was empty but then I hadn’t told him I was on my way back. I wouldn’t expect Benedict for at least a couple of hours. Saturday afternoons were spent watching sport in the over-themed wine bar that he liked to refer to as The Pub. I knew what a proper pub looked like now, and it bore no resemblance to Dizzy’s with its carefully distressed wooden bar stools, marble-topped tables and faux advertising signs for pre-war cigarettes that had once seemed so retro and original. He would be with his pals, watching some sporting event that they didn’t fully understand on the massive televisions.

  I dumped my bags in the hall, looked around and felt my sentimental mood fade and my irritation levels rise. The place was an absolute shambles.

  For a start there was some knobbly rustic bread covered in a mouldy fur on top of the bread bin. The laundry basket had been brought out of the bedroom into the middle of the living room and was so full the lid wouldn’t close. What was Benedict expecting? That the staff would sort it out while he was away? There was a similar problem with the kitchen bin where the lid was open and a couple of eggshells had been carefully balanced on the top of the pile. On top. Why? Why couldn’t he see that the bin needed emptying? Was he going to carry on balancing stuff like a children’s game until the whole lot toppled over?

  Right.

  Tired as I was, I set to and started clearing up. It never ceased to astonish me that someone who was in some ways such a fuss arse could also be so slovenly. In the bedroom there were clothes everywhere. I’m afraid I lost the plot a bit. I found some black bin liners and filled them all with shirts, sweaters, nasty pointy Italian shoes, hideous Lycra bike gear, gym gear, one of his fancy suits and even his poncey Panama hat, bought for an afternoon’s showing off at The Oval with Ralphie.

  I dumped the lot in the hall and then started to tidy up his other stuff. Two books on Albania because he thought it might be a cheap holiday, various toiletries. His teeth whitening trays left on top of the bookcase, vitamin supplements and a pot of hair unguents on the coffee table. I swear he had twice as much stuff as I did. Oh yes and his Andy Warhol print that I had always hated, the one of Mick Jagger looking particularly unattractive – that came down off the wall and I stuck it behind the sofa.

  By the time I had finished I was knackered and could quite easily have fallen asleep on the floor but I guessed he would be back before too long.

  Right on the dot of six thirty Benedict came back. Very slightly pissed and very pl
eased with himself. He came barging in the front door with a couple of cronies guffawing behind him. I guessed it would be Percy and Toby but most of Benedict’s friends were interchangeable, so I could be wrong. Except Toby has taken to cultivating a thick beard in a sort of irritating hipster way and at the same time shaved his thinning hair so that now it looks as though he has his head on upside down.

  ‘Hey my little lady has come back!’ Benedict carolled as he saw me. ‘I wasn’t expecting you! Where have you been? What are all the bags in the hall? Doing some housework?’

  ‘That’s what girlies are there for!’ Percy said. ‘Lucky you!’

  ‘No I’m just tidying up,’ I said ignoring Percy. ‘What have you been doing while I was away? The place looked like it was burgled.’

  Benedict looked around, puzzled. ‘But …’

  ‘Got a drink, old man? Don’t know about you but I’m in the mood for some fizz,’ Percy said, lurching towards the kitchen.

  I went to stand in his way.

  ‘Not now, Percy. Would you mind leaving and taking what’s his name with you? Benedict and I have something to discuss.’

  ‘Hello! You’re on a promise, me old chum!’ Percy chortled. ‘And you’re a lucky fellow.’

  ‘Lulu is looking lululicious! I know I would!’ Toby said, looking even more like a Woolly Willy toy I’d had as a child where the beard and hair were made with a magnet and iron filings.

  ‘Would what, Toby?’ I said, putting my arm out to stop him going into the kitchen.

  He flustered a bit. ‘Well you know.’

  ‘No, do enlighten me. Would what?’

  Benedict interrupted at this point. ‘Better go, chaps – I think the little lady and I have something to clear up.’

  He encouraged them out of the door and turned to face me, his eyes wide with innocent outrage.

  ‘What was all that about? You made me look a right idiot!’

  ‘You are a right idiot. This is my flat and you’ve left it looking like a slum just because I’ve been away. And stop calling me the little lady.’