A second later, I realise what he’s heard. A key in the door. The rustle of a lock. I draw a sharp intake of breath as my panicked eyes meet his.
The next few moments unfold both in slow motion and way too fast to take it all in. I fling down the hem of my skirt. We scramble away from the stairs. I straighten my hair and rest an elbow on the bannister, like I’m propping up a bar.
The door flies open and in walks Leo.
‘What’s for dinner?’
He doesn’t look up from his phone, just throws his rugby kit on the floor, steps over my knickers and heads towards the kitchen. I squeeze past Zach, grab the pants and scrunch them into my fist.
‘Um. . . what are you doing back? I thought you were staying out?’
There must be something in my voice that makes him stop at the threshold and turn around.
‘I was. I’ve run out of dosh.’
I clear my throat. ‘This is Zach. Jacob’s new maths tutor.’
Leo mumbles something approximating a hello and continues to the fridge.
Zach and I make our way to the door. I open it up and he steps out onto the porch.
‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper.
‘Don’t be. I’ll see you around.’
I nod. But before he leaves, he leans in one last time to say something, so softly that I can feel his breath against my ear.
‘You are . . .delicious.’
Chapter 44
It’s hard to concentrate on the living room panelling for the rest of the afternoon. Each time I go to measure something, I start reliving what’s happened earlier and wondering if I’ll be having pornographic flashbacks every time I walk up the stairs from this point onwards. Given that I’d always said this was our ‘forever home’ and vowed never to move again, this could get a bit strange if I’m still here at an age when I’ll need a stairlift.
The problem is, it’s not just the sex I’m thinking about. Already, my mind is skipping forward to an impossible place. To a future. A type of togetherness that is simply not available to Zach and me.
I manage to get one wall completed by the time Jacob returns from the theatre with my mum. They both loved the show, though my mother was such an emotional wreck by the end that, to use Jacob’s words, ‘it was like she had hosepipes coming out of her eyes.’
We have a quiet Saturday night, as Jacob and I snuggle on the sofa for a family movie while Leo spends the evening upstairs on his PlayStation. As I climb into bed later, a text pops up on my phone.
It’s no good. I still can’t get you out of my head. Yours, The Maths Tutor
I bite my lip and reply straight away.
You do realise I’m changing your name to that in my contacts book?
Seems fair. I am good at fractions, after all.
Among other things . . .
Do not get me all hot again, Darling. I can’t take it.
I’ll stop. Though . . . that was a very bad thing we did on the stairs today.
Darling . . .
I didn’t mean bad. I meant beautiful. With fucking songbirds.
The next text takes forever.
