by Pamela Fudge
I was actually relieved when the doorbell rang, but hoped fervently that it wasn’t Owen looking for another confrontation or, indeed, my acceptance of yet another apology.
I was so pleased to find Stuart on the step that I was probably extra effusive in my greeting. Throwing the door wide and ushering him in, offering, ‘Coffee, tea, beer or you can join me in a glass of wine?’
‘Unusual to get such a welcome when I arrive with my invoice,’ he said, obviously taken aback. ‘I take it you’re pleased with your study and everything is working as it should.’
‘Oh, yes, it’s wonderful. I won’t know myself – when I get the chance to make full use of it. At the moment the thought that Christmas is fast approaching is becoming something of a distraction. I was actually expecting your bill to pop through the door long before this.’
Stuart accepted a beer and, refusing a glass drank straight from the bottle and looked very relaxed leaning against the kitchen worktop. He was tall, taller than I remembered, as good-looking as I remembered in a rugged kind of way, casually dressed on this occasion in jeans, t-shirt and a black leather jacket. I could feel him watching me as I poured myself a generous glass of chilled wine and felt suddenly self-conscious, which was plainly ridiculous given that he’d been in and out of my house so regularly and seen me at my best and my worst.
‘Classes going ok?’ he asked, taking another sip of beer.
‘Great,’ I nodded, ‘I’ve had a few small successes to add to my scrapbook, brilliant when that happens during the first term.’ I went to one of the cupboards and reaching for the cheque I had already written, held it out to Stuart. ‘I think that’s what we agreed, but you must tell me if there were any unexpected expenses incurred.’
He stuffed it into the pocket of his jeans without checking it.
‘Don’t you…’ I began.
‘I trust you,’ he said abruptly.
‘Do you want to take a look at your workmanship now that all my stuff is in place?’ I offered, for want of something better to say or do. I managed to laugh. ‘I’ve made a real effort to put everything in its place and even sorted my books into categories and alphabetical order.’
‘That would be nice. I don’t often see the end results of our labour.’
I led the way and was very conscious that he was right behind me on the stairs. I really wished I wasn’t wearing ancient boot-cut jeans and a washed out t-shirt that had seen better days. Had I know he was coming I’d have made a bit more effort, because I was very aware that as a middle-aged mother of three my figure, though still slim, was hardly perfect. I wasn’t sure why I was bothered but, somehow, I was. Well, I had my pride.
The loft conversion was a big room, but the fitted furniture made it seem smaller and so did having Stuart prowling around, looking at the pictures on the walls and running his fingers along the books on the shelves.
He turned suddenly, and we came face to face, except that he was so tall I barely reached his shoulder and found myself looking up into eyes I hadn’t realised until that moment were grey.
‘It all looks great,’ he said simply, ‘the beech wood was a good choice,’ and then suddenly, out of nowhere, he added, ‘I would really like to take you out, and I would really like to kiss you.’
I took a step back, really quite shocked, because I hadn’t seen this coming – not at all.
‘Now I’ve offended you.’
‘No, no, of course not,’ I denied, with a nervous laugh. ‘Surprised me, flattered me, but no, I’m not at all offended. I would have thought I was a bit old for you.’
‘I’m thirty-nine and you can’t be more than – what? - forty?’
‘Forty-five.’
‘I like older women,’ he insisted, and reaching out he took my hand and drew me inexorably towards him.
The feeling of his lips on mine was quite delicious. There was no other word for it. The stubble on his chin I had expected to be bristly and rough but, in fact, was amazingly silky against my skin, and his mouth coaxed mine to open under his with very little effort on his part. I was so out of practice that I felt like a gauche teenager, but he was the best teacher. I soon gave myself up to pure enjoyment, reaching up to bury my hands in the thickness of his curly hair wanting the moment to go on and on.
‘Mmm,’ he murmured, drawing back eventually to look down at me. ‘I just knew you would be a great kisser. I’ve been driving myself mad thinking about it for ages.’
I just felt stunned and was glad to leave him to do the talking.
‘But we’re rushing ahead and you haven’t agreed to let me take you out yet.’
‘Yes, please, I’d like that,’ I said honestly, and we both laughed a bit breathlessly.
‘The ex, he won’t mind.’
I went to say again that Owen wasn’t my ex and anyway it was absolutely none of his business, but then thought better of it and said instead, ‘I’ll break it to him gently. We were never really an item, as such, but it’s a long and complicated story and I won’t bore you with it.’
I followed Stuart down the stairs in a very different frame of mind than when I had climbed them such a short time ago. I was elated, buzzing, and full of disbelief that this very nice looking man thought me attractive and wanted to take me out. I was also full of lustful thoughts for the first time in a very, very long time.
On my way home from class the following night, I found myself making a detour and pulling up outside of Owen’s new home. It was an end of terrace – just as he had visualised – on a corner plot, so that it had a bigger garden than the neighbouring houses. There was a light on behind the closed curtains of the living room, so I locked the car, made my way up the path and rang the bell.
He was surprised, shocked even, to find me on the step. ‘Evie,’ he said, and looked as if he was waiting for me to bite his head off.
‘Sorry, it’s so late. I thought we should talk, perhaps without raised voices for once.’ I looked up at him. ‘What’s happened to us, Owen? It wasn’t meant to be like this.’
His shoulders sagged, but there was such a look of relief on his face. ‘I’m so pleased to see you, really I am. Will you come inside?’
I followed him into the house, and looked about me with interest, because having viewed the house with Owen I was quite keen to see what he had done with it. The answer was – nothing. I couldn’t quite believe it, but it was painfully obvious that the furniture had been literally dumped haphazardly about the room and left surrounded by boxes that no effort had been made to unpack.
Owen saw me looking and said defensively, ‘Obviously I don’t have your homemaking skills.’
‘I would have helped,’ I pointed out. ‘You only had to ask.’
He wandered through to the kitchen, which was in a similar state, and put the kettle on. ‘Hardly, I think you’d have told me where to get off – quite rightly,’ he hastened to add, ‘and I know that’s my fault, jumping in continually with my size tens. I really am sorry, Evie, I don’t know what the hell’s been the matter with me, behaving like an over-protective parent at best and a jealous lover at worst.’
‘Well, I said considering, ‘I suppose I could have been more forthcoming about the men frequenting my house – though I really didn’t see why I should have to explain anything to you. We had gone our separate ways and were never a real couple in the first place, despite the fact we shared a house for so long.’
He hung his head and I noticed his normally close-cropped hair was overlong and really needed cutting and a closer look revealed his overall appearance was quite scruffy. I actually couldn’t believe the deterioration in him in such a short time. I wondered why the children hadn’t mentioned it, but they were young and perhaps hadn’t even noticed – or they thought I wouldn’t care. I didn’t like the feeling the latter gave me, because I did care about Owen and the children, despite what Alice had said.
‘I can pop round when I’m not teaching,’ I offered, ‘give you a hand – as long a
s you don’t think I’m interfering.’
‘That would be gre…’ he began, obviously about to accept my offer with alacrity, but then he hesitated, and asked, ‘but what about your writing?’
‘I’ve not managed to get that organised myself,’ I said ruefully, ‘despite the posh office. I’ve only just got straight myself and Christmas is only around the corner.’
‘Don’t remind me,’ Owen groaned. ‘Do you have any plans?’
‘We’ll all have to get together at some point,’ I supposed out loud, and then shook my head. ‘First things first, Owen, let’s get you sorted first and then we’ll think about that. If your bedrooms are anything like this we need to get a move on, because you’ll probably have at least two of the children staying with you for a night or two during the festivities. Have you eaten?’
He shook his head, which didn’t surprise me at all.
‘Pop and get yourself a take-away,’ I indicated the various cartons and plastic containers littering the work-tops, and said wryly, ‘you must be on first name terms with all of the local ones by the look of it. I’ll make a start while you’re gone.’
By the time he came back with a Chinese, which included some of my favourite dishes I was touched to note, the kitchen at least was starting to look less as if it was waiting to be condemned by the health department and I was hungry enough to join Own at the small table and tuck in.
Between us, after we’d eaten, we managed to arrange the sitting room furniture into some semblance of order and pile the boxes into one corner. Already the place was starting to look like a home and the awkwardness between us had been replaced with easy conversation and old jokes.
‘I’ll pop in when I get a minute, and carry on, if you don’t mind me having a key, but,’ I warned, ‘once you’re all straight, you’re on your own, mind. You’re not helpless, Owen, and when we lived together you were as good at keeping the place tidy as I was.’
‘I know, I just couldn’t seem to work up any enthusiasm on my own.’
‘Tch, tch,’ I clicked my tongue disapprovingly, ‘not good enough - and Owen,’ he looked up from investigating the contents of a large unlabelled box, ‘get your hair cut. It’s almost long enough to plait.’
We both started laughing at such a ridiculous statement and that started us reminiscing about the epidemic of head-lice that had seen us all sitting round watching TV doused with evil smelling treatments.
‘Do you remember, someone rang the doorbell and none of us would go and answer it?’
‘Whoever it was must have known we were at home with every light on and the television blaring. It took ages for them to give up and go away. I think that was when I started keeping my hair short.’ Owen ran a hand through his hair and it practically stood up in spikes. It wasn’t normally long enough to do that. ‘I’ll get it cut tomorrow.’
‘I could do it for you, but I doubt if we wouldn’t find the box with the clippers in any time soon.’
‘No chance,’ he smiled, and I thought he was already looking far more like his old self, ‘and you’ve done quite enough for me for now. It’s getting late. Thank you so much, Evie.’
‘You’re very welcome,’ I told him, and I meant it.
I drove off with his key safely attached to my key ring and feeling really pleased that I had called round. That was when I realised I hadn’t even mentioned the fact that I was going out on a date, despite the fact it was the reason I had gone to see him in the first place and that
Chapter Seven
November rushed towards December and I did get some use out of my new office space by writing Christmas cards and wrapping presents up there. The big stationary cupboard that I’d had incorporated into the layout was an excellent storage place – especially as I had had yet to purchase any stationary.
My second date with Stuart loomed – which was a miracle in itself, because I had almost cancelled the first one because of a serious bout of self-doubt and extremely cold feet.
My biggest concern was, typically, what the hell was I going to wear? I didn’t want to appear so casual that it looked as if I’d made no effort at all, but on the other hand I didn’t want to look as if I was out to make a huge impression.
In the end I opted for a brand new pair of indigo skinny jeans, tucked into knee-high boots, worn with a silky tunic top in black, grey and cream that skimmed my figure in a very advantageous way, with a black leather jacket over the top. It turned out to be a good choice for the relaxed evening we spent in a charming country pub chatting as if we’d known each other for years, and afterwards we smooched outside my house in the car like a couple of teenagers. Watching Stuart drive away in his VW Passat with the windows all steamed up made me laugh out loud as I slid my key into the door.
I didn’t have a lot of spare time, but with an hour here and there spent at Owen’s house it soon began to look like the home it was meant to be. He thanked me effusively the few times he returned when I was still there, and bought me flowers – requesting me not to throw them at him this time – and some champagne to keep for Christmas. When I was done I tried to return his key.
‘Keep it,’ he urged. ‘I’d like you to think of it as your second home.’
I didn’t know how to insist he take it back without offending him, but I had no intention of returning the favour by passing over my own spare front door key, and seriously wished that I had just posted it through the letterbox. I still hadn’t told him about Stuart – there just hadn’t seemed to be the right moment - but I really didn’t want him walking in on us at my place and causing a scene.
It became apparent, through various telephone conversations I had with the children, that they were expecting us to all spend Christmas day together as usual and I actually saw no harm in that. We were family, be it a rather unconventional one, and Christmas was about families. I even offered to do the cooking and host the meal, since it was either that or go to a restaurant with Owen’s house having no room for a decent sized table.
Between themselves the children sorted out the logistics of the accommodation. Mai and Ella were to share my spare room, with Connor on a blow-up bed in my office. Unsurprisingly, Alice preferred to take advantage of Owen’s hospitality and spare room and thereby relegate Jake to the use of his father’s couch. I supposed she would climb down from her high horse for long enough to join the rest of us for Christmas lunch at my place.
My effort to do something good for the family almost caused my first argument with Stuart on what was only our second date. I hadn’t thought to consult him first because it was only our second date and the evening was almost spoiled before it had begun. The problem, as ever, had been trying to explain my relationship with Owen and the years we had shared a home.
Stuart listened and made little comment – until I detailed my plans for a family Christmas day.
‘I had hoped we might be able to do something together.’ He had looked disappointed and more than a bit disgruntled.
‘And we can,’ I assured him, ‘’just not on Christmas day. I haven’t been seeing you for five minutes, so it’s a bit soon to be introducing you to my children.’
‘And it isn’t just your children, is it? I’m not sure I can get my head round this arrangement of yours.’
Having already done my level best to explain my previous living intricacies to him, I refused to be drawn into further detailed discussion and just shrugged and stated briefly, ‘Not many people can. Over the years we both got heartily sick of trying to clarify that our relationship wasn’t what it seemed. I can only say that it suited Owen and me – and especially the children - and that we intend to stay friends.’
‘He didn’t seem very friendly when I saw him. Decidedly un-cool about any of the male species being in your vicinity, I’d have said in fact. That seems rather odd behaviour in someone who only shared living space with you for convenience sake. Does he know about us?’
‘I didn’t know there was an “us” he should know about.
Seeing each other on all of two occasions doesn’t constitute an association of any great significance in my book,’ I said, recognising I sounded a bit pompous but unable to think of any other way of putting it at that precise moment.
‘But an association that has lasted fifteen years – even though it isn’t a relationship - does?’ he queried, with a straight look.
‘I seem to remember that you’re divorced,’ I said pointedly. ‘How long did you say you were married?’
‘Ah, but that ended acrimoniously. I told you, she didn’t like the long hours I worked building up the business and found someone with more time on his hands. We broke up – you two didn’t.’
This was just the kind of conversation I didn’t want to be having and I regretted my effort to be honest, just as I always had in the past, but I really liked Stuart, so I had to keep trying.
‘The arrangement between Owen and me came to a natural conclusion as soon as the last child left home. I’m glad, for the children’s sake and for ours that it wasn’t an acrimonious spilt for us. I’m not going to pretend otherwise or fall out with Owen just to make you feel better. Yes, recently, he’s behaved like an idiot – something he freely admits – but everything is fine now and it makes life easier all round if we can be the good friends we always have been.’
‘So you’ll tell him about us.’ he persisted.
‘Yes,’ I nodded, ‘when, and if, there is something to tell.’
‘I hope there will be.’ He smiled suddenly, explaining ruefully, ‘I’m not usually this insecure, but I can’t imagine living in the same house as you for fifteen days – never mind fifteen years – and managing to keep my hands off you.’
‘Flatterer.’ I couldn’t help laughing, but there was no mistaking the look in his eyes and I shivered, too, especially when he leaned across the table between us and captured my lips for a moment with his own. From then on we had a lovely time and Owen wasn’t mentioned again.
