‘You’re lovely,’ he murmurs, kissing my neck, my breasts, all of me in a way that shoots me into the sky.
It’s been so long since I’ve felt this way, I can barely remember it. To feel desirable, even beautiful – and not a lady robot with colossal feet. Not just a cook and cleaner and household fixer, handling life’s tedious details rather than the more thrilling ‘broad strokes’. Not a cleaner-upper of dog sick and burner of cakes and quiches and scrubber of a purple bathroom that used to make me think, every time,What am I doing here?
Because nothing crushes your self-esteem more surely than knowing it’s partly your fault. That you agreed to this; that you’re culpable. Are you weak or what? What happened to your gumption, your spine, the woman you used to be?
She’s right here, I realise now. Here in this freshly painted white bedroom with sloping eaves and a gauzy curtain that wafts gently in the light breeze, and a jar of garden flowers on the windowsill that Fergus put there for me. And right now I’m remembering that intimacy is the most powerful, wonderful thing – because it makes you feel alive.
Lying side by side, we kiss deeply and trace our fingers over each other’s bodies. My heart is beating hard. I wrap my legs around him, utterly unselfconscious as I close my eyes as his hands sweep over me. I feel desired and free, and my heart is pounding loudly, so loudly I can almost hear—
And then I realise that’s not my heart. At least it’s notjustthat. It’s something else, coming from outside of me and actually, beyond this bedroom. It’s coming from out there, down in the street.
I try to block out the sound but it’s no good. It won’t stop.
Fergus frowns, pulling away from me. ‘Are you okay?’ he asks softly.
‘Yes.’ I nod. ‘I think so. But someone’s outside, I think? D’you hear that?’
We lie still for a moment, wrapped up in each other’s arms. Then the noise comes again. ‘Yes,’ Fergus says. ‘I think someone’s out there...’
‘Sounds like they’re knocking on the shop door.’
‘At this time?’ Fergus looks confused.
‘Should we go and see—’ I start. But before I can finish a voice calls out: ‘Kate? Kate? Hello? Are you up there? It’s me!’
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
‘...Would’ve told you I was coming but I was worried you’d say no, don’t come. Didn’t want you to pull up the drawbridge...’ Vince laughs awkwardly. ‘Or throw boiling oil at me or shoot arrows into my head—’
‘Vince,please...’ I hand him a mug of tea and sit beside him on the sofa as if we are on a train. Fergus is still here, perched a little awkwardly on the living room windowsill. He doesn’twantto be here, but he knows it would have seemed odd if he’d rushed off immediately. (I realise that by now I can virtually read his mind.)
‘You should’ve let me know,’ I add firmly. ‘Just a message, Vince. That would’ve done...’
‘Yeah.’ Vince nods slowly, going to sip his tea and scalding his lip. ‘Sorry if it’s an inconvenience, if I’ve put you out—’
‘You haven’t put me out,’ I say quickly.No,it was absolutely ideal! As a comedian you’ve always had brilliant timing!But then, it could have been worse. We could have been actually doing it. As it was, I’d scrambled into my clothes and run to the window and peered around the curtain. There was Vince, standing in the light rain with a small rucksack, looking up.
I’d waved at him as if he were a delivery man.I’ll be down in a tick!And I’d hurtled downstairs, flattening my hair as I went and panicking that every cell of my body was screaming out,Your wife was just about to have sex with another man.
Could Vince tell? Could he see it shining out of my eyes, or sense all those fresh kisses all over me? Did I even have to hide it from him?
Of course I did because he is my husband and has travelled four hundred miles to see me. And now that whole incident there – already I’m thinking of it as an ‘incident’, like pranging the car – seems ridiculous and wrong. What were we eventhinking?
I brought Vince upstairs to the flat. ‘Vince, this is Fergus. Fergus, Vince...’ It was stiffly polite, with handshakes and the unspoken question shimmering over us:Are you sleeping with my wife?
‘We work together in the bookshop,’ Fergus had explained calmly.
‘Oh, right. I see.’ Vince looked tired, confused and certainly thinner than he was four months ago. Paler too – light-starved even, as if he’s been spending an awful lot of time indoors.
Now we’re all here together, drinking tea, trying to pretend everything is normal. Vince turns to me. ‘So, d’you like working in the shop?’ he asks, like some distant uncle.
‘I do. Yes.’ I bite my lip and make a weird noise, sipping my tea.
‘Looks like a nice town,’ he adds.
‘It is.’ I try to muster enthusiasm. ‘It really is lovely—’
‘Okay, well I’d better get off home,’ Fergus announces, jumping up and taking his mug to the tiny kitchen and swilling it out. ‘Nice to meet you, Vince,’ he adds.
