by Sue Watson
The house was lovely. High ceilings, deep skirting boards, big airy windows, trendy artwork, bulging book cases and a big, fluffy cat in the middle of a squashy sofa scattered with eclectic cushions of every shade and shape (Sue would not have approved—nothing matched). Dan gestured for me to go into the kitchen. ‘Come and observe the artist at work,’ he said, his hand in the small of my back, his breath on my neck. It was early in the evening, but I was already faint with desire and could barely concentrate on his menu for looking at his beautiful, stubbly face. He talked about tomatoes on the vine, free-range chicken and Italian herbs, but I just wanted to kiss every crevice of his face—and move down.
I put my bottle of wine on the side and he took it, smiling and studying the label.
‘Oh I didn’t know you were a wine buff?’
‘Oh, it’s just some I had in,’ I smiled. ‘Mmm, that smells good... there’s something sweet too?’ I said, sniffing the air like a truffle pig.
‘Yeah, I was nostalgic for home so I’ve baked my mum’s lemon cakes.’
My heart melted.
‘I don’t suppose your supermodel girlfriends eat cake when you invite them over for dinner.’
‘No, they just have a stick of celery then sex on the table—so predictable.’ He pulled a disapproving face.
I smiled. ‘You are joking, right?’
He laughed and nodded.
‘Oh, God, that stuff earlier... I came over all possessive, didn’t I? I don’t want you to think I’m... I’m not some stalker. I mean, if you had sex on the table, I wouldn’t mind. I don’t mean I wouldn’t... I don’t mean I wouldn’t have sex on the table, I would... I just meant...’
‘Faye. Enough,’ he smiled. ‘Eat some of this bread and stop talking about sex all the time—you’re obsessed,’ he rolled his eyes in mock annoyance and I giggled.
We sat at one end of the big wooden kitchen table and ate homemade walnut bread with olive oil and balsamic vinegar. The bread was warm and nutty and the kitchen was filled with pots and pans and jars of herbs and spices, and I wanted to stay there forever. Terracotta tiles covered the walls and the air smelled of the Mediterranean: sharp, sweet lemons, the savoury perfume of herbs and earthy garlic. The wine was red and deep, and I sipped it as he laid platters of salad and rice and fragrant chicken on the table.
‘This is delicious. You are so clever,’ I said, taking large mouthfuls of food. My emotions were all over the place and, having felt lightheaded and giddy all day, I was now feeling a sudden surge of hunger. It was so healing, being with him, and the more I ate the more we talked, and the tension in my shoulders seemed to recede along with my tiredness. I could never feel tired around Dan.
‘I’m glad you enjoy my food. It’s like when you create a great hairstyle or a new colour, like any artist—we want people to enjoy our work however big or small,’ he said, reaching out his hand across the table, touching mine.
Watching him eat and talk, it occurred to me in that second that the thing Dan showed me more than anything was respect. He thought I was a good mum and considered me to be wise, funny, and even showed respect for my job. He wasn’t belittling me or putting down my career, he was likening what I did to that of an artist and I’d never thought of it in those terms before. He was right; I was creative and worked hard to achieve the right colour effect, the perfect cut that would suit my client. It might have been the wine, but my inner Beyonce was on the move and I had that urge to dance on the table again. Why was I only just experiencing this euphoria? Why had it taken me so long to realise that life could be like this and that it is never too late to unearth the very core of who you are, what you’ve been looking for... and what you can still become?
After we’d eaten, Dan produced a batch of perfect lemon cakes and lovingly placed them one by one on a tiered cake platter. They looked so pretty and I was so touched he’d made them just for me, I didn’t want to spoil the display. ‘I’ll eat one later,’ I promised.
‘Don’t put the moment off, Faye... if you do, it may never come round again. Go on... take one while you can,’ he said, plucking a lemon cake from the pyramid, breaking a lemony lump off and leaning across the table. He gently offered the squidgy, fragrant lemon morsel to my lips and I slowly opened my mouth to let it in, my tongue tingling with lemon and sugar, my whole body buzzing with him. He watched me, licking his lips, his mouth almost moving with mine as he broke off some more, again gently pushing it between my lips. I licked his palm and my mouth glittered with sugar.
He smiled. Standing up and taking my hand, he helped me up, clearing the plates across the table with one arm to make a clearing. Then he put his hands around my waist and lifted me onto the table, kissing me, gently forcing his body between my knees. ‘Should we be doing this? I mean, your aunt... when will she be home?’
‘I don’t know... and I don’t care,’ he whispered, his hands under my T-shirt, caressing my breasts as my hand moved towards the zip of his jeans, grazing the bulging denim.
‘She has lodgers too.’ He kissed my breasts. ‘Any of them could walk in at any time—it’s... very... very dangerous. And... very, very exciting.’
I felt like a sixteen-year-old again, worried about being caught on the sofa by our parents. I slowly lay back on the table, taking a deep breath. The air was infused with lemon zest and sugar and he was gently pulling down my jeans. ‘You’re so beautiful...’ he sighed.
I held on to his strong, slim back. His firm thighs were now between my legs; I was unable to resist and within seconds we were having sex on the kitchen table. Oh my God, I thought, I am like a porn star; I’m just doing it anywhere and everywhere these days—is this really me? The lemon cake feeding foreplay had excited us both, and just moments later he exploded as I groaned in ecstasy.
We both lay on the table, entwined in each other’s limbs, I was amazed at how he made me feel. It had never been like this for me before. The old Faye Dobson wouldn’t have had sex on her own kitchen table, let alone anyone else’s.
‘I forgot about your tiger...’ I heard him say. I opened my eyes and slowly came to; ‘Oh... what?’ He was gesturing towards my vajazzle. I’d forgotten about it too. In fact, during sex I’d also forgotten about my unleashed breasts, ageing thighs and baggy baby tummy. He made me feel young and beautiful again.
‘I couldn’t see it properly in the dark the other night, but it’s quite good, really detailed,’ he said, his fingers caressing the jewels. Then he looked at me; ‘Why a tiger?’
‘A tiger? What do you mean?’ I’d only looked at the vajazzle from above; as I hated my body, I tried to avoid looking at myself naked in a full-length mirror. I sat up, and from my rather uncomfortable vantage point tried to make out the shape from upside down—then realised Mandy’s little joke: it wasn’t a tiger, it was a cougar.
‘I wondered why everyone growled when they saw it...’ I said.
‘’Everyone?’ Everyone?’ How many people have you shown it to, Faye?’ he asked.
‘Loads... Mandy took a photo.’
‘Jesus, you Pommy girls are out there, aren’t you?’ He was teasing again.
‘No... it was for her portfolio. Don’t say anything else or I’ll keep talking,’ I giggled. ‘It’s a long story... and I don’t want you to stop to listen to... me... going on about my... vajazz...’
He was gently pushing me back down and moving up my body to kiss my mouth, and then we were having sex again, only this time on the kitchen floor. We writhed around and I wondered why I’d never had sex on a kitchen floor with a younger guy before—because it was so very good. And the old Faye was telling the new Faye that Dan’s Auntie Jen may walk in on them anytime—and the new Faye was panting, ‘I know, but that’s what makes it so very... very dangerous and... very... very... exciting.’
* * *
We lay on the floor for a while, but I reckoned we were now tempting fate and the prospect of being caught while having sex tended to lose its potency in the afterglow. I really didn’t want �
��Auntie Jen’ to walk in on her nephew naked on the floor with the local hairdresser who’d just left her husband.
‘I’ve never had sex on a kitchen table,’ I said as we sat up and gathered our clothes together.
‘You haven’t lived,’ he kissed me.
I smiled and moved from his arms, gathering my clothes around me, and we wandered through into the living room and sat cuddled together on a sofa.
‘I’ve never had sex with anyone but Craig,’ I whispered.
His arm was round me and he stroked my hair.
‘Was your break-up difficult?’ he asked.
‘He’s the father of my child. We have a shared history. I loved him once... in my way, but it wasn’t earth-shattering, soul mate love. I was pregnant and we wanted the baby... but we should never have married.’
‘That’s sad.’
‘Yeah, it is, but I can’t regret it because that would be like regretting my daughter—and she’s my best achievement, the love of my life and the thing I’m most proud of.
‘You are lovely, Faye... you gave up a lot. College, all your dreams of travelling, living abroad... that rooftop in New York.’
‘Yeah, and that Santorini sunset...’
I was still in his arms and he cuddled me to him, kissing my forehead.
‘Is that next on your list?’ he asked. ‘To see a sunset on Santorini?’
‘One day... but next I’d like to see another lemon cake,’ I said. My time with Dan was borrowed. I wasn’t going anywhere while he was still in the UK; I wanted to be with him until the very last second when he got on that flight back to Australia.
He left the room and I slowly got dressed, glad of the opportunity to squeeze into Emma’s jeans without being observed. As I hopped on one leg and wobbled up and down pouring myself into the blue denim, I was grateful Dan wasn’t around to see it.
He wandered back in with a cupcake on a plate, just as I’d zipped myself up.
‘Ooh, a post-coital cupcake,’ I said, taking the plate from him and crossing my legs on the sofa.
He stood watching me, smiling.
‘What?’ I said, attacking the moist, fragrant lemon cake with all my concentration and pushing a wedge of citrusy deliciousness into my mouth.
He wandered towards me on the sofa and opened his mouth. I shook my head, ‘This is too good to share.’ I turned my back on him and he tried to grab me, or the cake, but I fought him off.
‘But I thought, as we’d just shared our bodies... we might share a cake?’ he said, trying to rugby tackle me on the sofa.
‘You are kidding. Sex is one thing... but cake is a very different matter,’ I said, laughing through citrus crumbs as he tickled me. I continued with the delicious, lemony confection, the bitter-sweetness making my jaws ache, the moist sponge light and crumbly. I fought him off to finish the last crumb off the plate, and Dan feigned surprise.
‘Oh... you weren’t joking... about eating it all yourself?’
‘Joking? Dan, if we’re going to be seeing more of each other, I just need to lay down some ground rules. I love beautiful, crafted dishes, continental cheeses, Italian leaves and rustic artisanal breads, and anything your deli has to offer. But if we’re going to have a good time this summer, I want us to begin with total honesty. Yes, I love fine food, but I also love junk food, and when I am desperate for a fix, I’ve been known to go to the corner shop and stock up with white bread, crisps, chocolate and cake. So, along with my “no sharing” policy, be prepared for me to sometimes behave like a slut in the kitchen.’
‘Oh, yeah...? I already saw that, just now.’
I punched him in the arm. ‘‘I always knew Australians were coarse,’ I teased, and we began to play-fight with Auntie Jen’s cushions, which led to more kissing. I couldn’t believe how confident I was with him; I wanted him all the time and, despite the lateness of the hour and the fact his auntie could appear at any time, I wanted him again. Who knew Faye Dobson was like this? I didn’t.
I ran my fingers down his arm and he sat up so he could see me.
‘I remember when I first saw you, I thought you were like no one I’d ever known. You are so different with your tan and your blond hair and your lovely accent.’
He looked into my eyes, caressing my cheek as he spoke. ‘I thought you were something special too. You’re gorgeous—but I’ve since realised you’re quite impatient and hungry. I mean, you have a big appetite for life... okay, and cake.’ He sat up properly, facing me on the sofa, his legs crossed, an arm on each of my shoulders, more serious now. ‘Most of all, I love your honesty... you don’t play games; what you see is what you get—I love that. We’re probably being stupid starting something we both know will have to end... but I don’t care I just want to be with you.’
‘I’m a big girl... I know you have to go home one day, but let’s not talk about that. Let’s make the most of our time together, even if it’s tinged with the fact that we both know it will end. It’s bittersweet, like lemon cake.’
‘You’re an infuriating optimist who likes to gloss over the bad bits and pretend everything’s great, aren’t you?’
I nodded.
‘Well that’s good, because so am I.’
He reached down and kissed me a million times. And all I could taste was love and lemon cake.
16
YOU HEAR THE MUSIC AND YOU JUST GOTTA DANCE!
‘I fancy Cuba,’ I said one afternoon about a week after sex on Jen’s table. We were lying together on Sue’s sofa. She’d gone on a dog-walking date and though I’d hoped it would be a success, the signs weren’t good—not least of all because she didn’t actually have a dog.
‘Yeah, Cuba’s lovely,’ Dan sighed. ‘Daiquiris, beautiful women, laid-back sounds... I loved Cuba.’
‘Is there anywhere you haven’t been?’ I asked.
‘Oh, probably—I just never like to be in one place for too long.’
‘I’ve been in the same place doing the same thing for too long,’ I said, lying back into his arms, stroking his thigh. We’d just had wild sex on the sofa and I was feeling a little sleepy but as Dan had taken the day off specially to be with me, I felt we should make the most of it.
‘Let’s do something exciting!’ I said, sitting up.
‘We just did.’
‘No—I want to do something totally inappropriate for a woman my age.’
‘You just did.’
‘Okay. Stop it. Think of something.’
‘I don’t know... fly to Cuba, get your nipple pierced, have my name tattooed across your chest?’
‘Hmm...not sure about your name across my chest, but I’ve always wanted a tattoo,’ I said, feeling a sparkle in the pit of my stomach.
‘Okay, let’s go then.’ He stood up and threw his T-shirt on.
‘Now?’
‘Why not?’
‘Because it’s not something you do on a Monday afternoon. You have to think about these things. I can’t just go and get tattooed.’
He flopped back down. ‘Of course you can. I told you, stop putting everything off. No one “thinks” about a tattoo—it’s like you hear the music and you just gotta dance... you know?’
‘Do you?’
‘Yeah. I got mine on a whim; just fancied it when I was drunk one night in Thailand. I just did it. If you don’t do it now, you never will.’
‘What would Emma think of me getting drunk and going for a tattoo on my day off?’ I said.
‘She’d think, ”My mum’s the coolest chick I know.’ He stood up. ‘Come on—let’s do it. You have to stop worrying what everyone else thinks. Do what’s right for you, not Emma, or Sue... or even me. Do what Faye wants... and stop judging her.’
‘Do I judge myself?’
‘Yeah, big time. Stop beating yourself up, Faye. If you want to do something, trust your instincts, feel good about doing what’s right for you and just do it.’
He was right and I did want this. It would be a symbol of my newfound free
dom, my new approach to life. A tattoo would be fun and young and make me feel good about myself. I had to stop judging myself and worrying about how my choices impacted on everything else. I was going to do it—and get down to that tattoo parlour before I changed my mind.
‘Okay, then. Let’s go,’ I said, jumping up and grabbing my handbag.
An hour later I was in a bar high on pain, drinking neat whisky. I was also the proud owner of a small, cute, lemon cupcake tattoo on my left shoulder; ‘I feel... kick-ass crazy,’ I said, pulling a face as the stinging whisky hit my gullet.
‘Yep, you’re one crazy bitch,’ Dan laughed, and ordered us another.
‘And I haven’t finished yet,’ I said, admiring my beautiful but rather sore shoulder tattoo. ‘Dan, I just feel soooo good. It’s like I’ve been asleep forever, and I’ve just woken up. Why have I never done these things before? Why did I wait so long? I should have done all this when I was eighteen!’
‘Perhaps you weren’t ready then, but you want it now, girl, and you sure as hell are getting it... and who cares how old you are when you get it? It’s all about the stars colliding... and I reckon you had a stellar collision.’
I reckoned he was right.
‘So, what’s next on your agenda?’ he asked.
‘Oh, I don’t know. What’s left on my list? There’s swimming naked... I want to go away, see some stuff... but I don’t want to leave you, not when our time is so limited.’
He was a dreamer just like me. I’d always suppressed this part of me with Craig; he’d always laughed at my plans and my silly ideas so I'd learned to hide them from him. But Dan and I took each other’s foolishness seriously because we both understood what it was like to want everything—now. There were no rules with Dan. We had sex outside, stayed up all night and got drunk in the middle of the afternoon... It was pure hedonism, anything was possible and I loved it. In Australia he used to cliff dive and I reckon he was always looking for the next cliff, the best high—and I was now right behind him in the queue.
