“No. I’m told it’s hormones. They seem to be responsible for everything from a bad night’s kip to world hunger. You?”
“Same. Though not sure if it’s the hormones. Mainly I think it’s my brain – I have a lot of trouble switching it off. I’ve been better since I’ve been here, though. Last night I manageda whole six uninterrupted hours, which is pretty much unheard of.”
“Isn’t this the most old-person conversation ever?” I say, frowning. “Young people never ask each other how they slept, do they? Now I feel like I start most chats with ‘did you sleep well?’ It’s like the holy grail when you’re older, a good night’s sleep!”
“I know,” he replies, smiling. “And it’s only going to get worse… before long we’ll be comparing blood pressure pills and discussing the waiting lists for hip replacements.”
I have been feeling a few twinges in my hip recently – I suppose a combination of being a teensy bit (okay, almost a stone) overweight and having a job that involves being on my feet all day. I shudder slightly, and say: “Enough! This is even scarier thanDoctor Sleep. I need to fill my mind with cute bears from darkest Peru!”
“You’re right. And this has been nice, Connie.”
“Talking about our declining health?”
He shrugs. “Maybe that’s part of it – I tend to spend a lot of time with younger people in my professional life. They’re bloody exhausting, all fresh and energetic and ambitious.”
“Sounds disgusting.”
“It can be. So, anyway – it’s been nice being here with you. Enjoying your company. Even just chilling out and watching the TV together, you know?”
I nod, because I do know. I’ve enjoyed it too, and I am starting to feel a tug of sadness at the thought of him leaving. Not just because of the crush thing, but because it has felt alarmingly good to have his companionship. When you lose your life partner, there are many things you miss about the life you had before, and some of them are so simple. Sitting together and watching the TV is right up there, boring as it might sound – just the plain act of sharing a mundane experience, and talking about it afterwards.
“Yes. I know – and the feeling is mutual. Maybe we can watch TV together over Zoom when you’re in London? Like, our own personalGogglebox?”
He laughs out loud and says: “Brilliant idea – I’m in!”
I press play onPaddington, and let my mind wander as everyone’s favourite bear begins his adventures. It’s an odd thought, Zack being back in London in that big family home, all on his own – and me here, in a similar state once the kids have gone back to college. Maybe we can help each other through it. Or maybe he’s just being polite, who knows? Maybe once he’s back in the city he’ll forget I even exist. I have no control over that so it’s probably best to ignore it.
The movie helps, and is the perfect distraction. I find myself imagining how people here in Starshine Cove would react to a stray bear looking for a family, and decide that Paddington would be inundated with offers of free board, lodging and marmalade sandwiches. We would embrace him into all aspects of our community, and he would be the most loved bear ever.
This is the last conscious thought I have – picturing a fictional talking animal playing cricket on the village green – before I slide into sleep. I don’t notice it happening, of course, it sneaks up on me – I must get ambushed by one of those slow blinks. I’m not sure exactly when it happens, but it definitely does, because the next time I glance at the TV screen Paddington has found his happy ending and the film has finished. Yikes.
Even more of a yikes is the fact that somehow, during my snooze, I have scooted all the way across the sofa to Zack. Or, as we’ve met in the middle, maybe it was a mutual scooting. Either way, I am now snuggled up against him, my thigh across his lap and my face resting against his chest. His arm is slung around my shoulders, and one of mine is wound around his torso. We are completely entwined with each other, and for a blissful moment I simply let myself enjoy it.
I am a tactile person. I like hugs and cuddles and physical affection. My poor children are used to it, and I have plenty of friends in the village who are always happy to have a hug as well. But this is different – this is very different. I have not been in this kind of position since Simon, and part of me is thrilled, even if it did happen by accident.
There is just something so lovely about being in someone’s arms, feeling safe and protected and small, allowing yourself to let your guard down for a while. I’ve been Mum and Dad to my children for a long time now, which means I’ve always been on high alert. Always vigilant, looking around corners for everyone else. This feeling – this sense of warmth, of comfort, of security – is not one I’ve experienced for years. It is sublime, but in its own way it is also much scarier than any horror film.
I don’t want to move, but I know I have to. I can’t let myself stay here, in this lush cocoon, imagining that any of it is real. That any of it might last. He is leaving, and even if he wasn’t, I think it’s pretty much been established that I’m not his type. Maybe, I tell myself, I will find this again – maybe one of my dates will amount to more than coffee and awkward conversation. Maybe there will be a time in my life when I find a man I can enjoy moments like this with again – but that time is not now, and that man is not Zack.
I let out a little sigh at the thought of having to disturb him, and am shocked when he speaks. And when his arm tugs me even closer to him.
“Don’t move,” he says quietly, his voice a deep whisper. “I’ve been awake for a few minutes, wondering how we ended up like this – then deciding I didn’t care how. I was just glad we did.”
I’m grateful he can’t see my face, because I must look ridiculous, like a cartoon version of surprised. My eyes have popped open wide, I feel a flush sweeping across my cheeks and I’m suddenly very hot. I don’t think it’s menopausal – but itmight be hormones. Just different ones. Even the air around us seems to sizzle, like there is electricity floating through it.
He nuzzles into my hair, and I feel the warmth of his breath against me. My hand burrows beneath his T-shirt, making contact with the bare skin of his chest, and I suck in a quick breath. God, it feels so good – to touch and be touched like this.
I feel his fingers stroking my curls away from my cheeks, and then his thumb is beneath my chin, gently tilting my face up to look at his. His green eyes are intense, his slight smile full of promise. He pauses, and I know he is giving me the chance to object. To pull away. To decide that this is a stupid idea and to put a stop to it before anything has even happened.
That is the last thing I want to do, though, and instead I reach up, lay my hand on the back of his neck, and pull him in for a kiss.
It starts softly, both of us taking our time and feeling our way through it. The touch of his lips against mine is everything I thought it would be, and the restrained beginning soon builds into something so much more. It’s as if both of us suddenly go on turbo-charge, and the kiss races from quiet and curious to hot and hungry in just a few seconds.
I barely notice myself moving, but somehow I do – and I find myself sitting astride him, his arms tugging me close, our mouths never parting. I hold his face between my palms, and he groans as his hold on me tightens.
I find myself writhing in a decidedly un-ladylike way against him, moaning out loud as his lips move from mine to trail kisses along my cheekbone, my jaw, down to my neck. Every spot he touches seems to be ablaze, and I can’t get enough of him. It’s as though every minute we’ve spent together until this moment was extended foreplay, and I am now on fire with need for him. I’d almost forgotten what this felt like – this unstoppable physical pleasure that chases all other thoughts from your mind. The waythe body can take on this life of its own, detached from common sense and thought.
He kisses his way up to my ear, and whispers: “Are you sure?”
