Jojo's French Escape

by Lorraine Wilson

  God, I’m lost. Please let this be real, please.

  Cal strokes my hair, soothing me, easing the stress out of me with each caress. I don’t care about the photo, I’m never going to ask him to stop playing with my hair.

  ‘I am really sorry,’ I apologise again and bury my face back into his chest because frankly it’s a really nice place to be. I think I could stay like this forever, inhaling him and revelling in the sense of feeling protected. I know it can’t last, I know it’s an illusion to expect protection and anti-feminist to want it but still … God, it’s nice.

  I exhale and force myself to ask the question I really need the answer to.

  ‘So what’s this about a book deal?’ I pull back a little and try to keep my tone light and free from suspicion.

  ‘My agent has been talking to publishers, but as I haven’t actually signed the contract yet I’m not allowed to talk about it.’ Callum shrugs as though it’s no big deal. ‘Though I guess I can now, given the information is already out there. The publishers won’t be happy. I think they wanted to time the press release with some book fair or other.’

  He wouldn’t use me. Of course, he wouldn’t.

  ‘So, a cookbook? Autobiography?’

  ‘Cookbook with a little bit of a travel guide thrown in. A simple guide to French cooking with my impressions of the best markets in Occitanie. The importance of using good, fresh ingredients. Food porn pictures from French markets, you know the kind of thing.’

  I watch his face. He’s trying to play it down, but his eyes are gleaming. I think he’s really into the idea of a book.

  ‘Food porn?’

  ‘For people who aren’t actually going to cook – they’re just going to look at the pictures and think about cooking. Or who knows, maybe I’ll manage to get them excited enough to actually buy some ingredients and cook a meal from scratch. That’s the hope anyway, to inspire people to cook.’

  I really wish I could be happy for Cal but the words from the online article are still going around and around in my head in that familiar ticker-tape of doom. Well, I am sort of happy for him. It’s great things are going well for him and he’s enthused but …

  ‘Why am I still disgraced?’ I ask a small, quiet voice. ‘That’s what I don’t get. All I did was have sex with my boyfriend in the privacy of a bedroom. I didn’t even know I was being filmed. I really didn’t. Oh, and I also got cheated on publicly, my heartbreak served up as entertainment. I never wanted to be a flipping reality TV star.’

  I hope Callum will understand my reaction, that he’ll get why seeing my name and my face, along with that ‘disgraced’ label, is so hard to bear. Will I be carrying that label around forever? Will they dredge it out every single time Cal is mentioned in the press? Celebrity chef Callum O’Connor is dating ‘disgraced ex reality star Joanna Grant’. That kind of thing. So even if I stay away from cameras as much as possible and let Cal go to events on his own, I’m still going to be in the public eye.

  Assuming I stay with Callum, assuming he wants me to … If we do stay together, we are going to be in the media spotlight, and I will be wearing that label forever.

  I really don’t know how I feel about that. Actually, that’s not true. I know exactly what I feel and it’s depressing the hell out of me.

  This is what I ran away from and now it’s come looking for me. If I stay with Cal I will never escape it, ever. And if I wanted to run, then who knows, maybe this time round I’d find it harder to be able to successfully disappear.

  ‘I know, JoJo, I know.’ Cal tightens his hold of me.

  ‘Do you?’ I ask.

  ‘I can’t know exactly what it’s like to be you, but I know you, JoJo. Please let’s make this our problem, not just your problem. I don’t want you vanishing on me, whether that’s running off to Italy or just disappearing into your head.’

  Okay, he really does know me.

  ‘Our problem?’ I ask. ‘I like the sound of that. And anyway I can’t go to Italy.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Flump hasn’t got his pet passport yet.’

  Cal laughs and hugs me hard.

  ‘It’ll be okay.’ He pulls me up against him and as his lips find mine I feel like I’m being torn into two – the desire to disappear and stay hidden is warring with the desire to trust, to love, to embrace and hold onto how wonderful I feel when I am with him.

  As the kisses become more urgent my heartbeat picks up and I feel sexual energy roaring through me, powerful and urgent, demanding release. Like I’ve repressed that part of me for far too long and now that it’s had a taste of freedom it’s surging into life and protesting its captivity. I don’t think I could kick it back into line if I tried.

  I don’t think I want to.

  As if by mutual consent we are moving towards the house, both gripped by the same sense of urgent desire. At least I hope I am not the only one feeling it with such intensity. I glance sideways at Cal and catch a glimpse of his dark, dilated pupils. The firm grip of his hand holding mine also reassures me.

  We go to my room as it is the nearest and as soon as the door is closed behind us we’re kissing passionately, hands exploring and tugging impatiently at clothing as though we are both in a hurry to put our recent conversation behind us.

  We lie naked on the bed, facing each other, eyes serious and bodies momentarily still, our clothes lying where they fell on the floor. It’s as though we’re savouring what’s to come. Cal reaches out a hand and tenderly strokes my cheek. His finger traces a line along my jaw and down between my breasts. I revel in the sensation of his rougher skin trailing against my soft skin and super-sensitised nerve endings. I jerk when his finger dips into my belly button and over my abdomen.

  My breathing is ragged by the time he slips first one and then a second finger inside me. I’m already wet for him when he scissors his fingers inside me, opening me up and stretching me. He watches where his fingers penetrate, and my reactions, as though I’m the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. As usual his fascination makes me feel sexy and attractive, confident in my body in a way I’ve not been for a very long time. I feel more myself again. A whole self and not merely the shell I’ve been presenting to the world.

  He’s good for me, he is. I should never have mistrusted him.

  Should I?

  I suppress my doubts and give myself over to the rising tide of desire, surrendering to the pleasure of being touched, to the sensations of needing and giving. My body’s response to Cal is unequivocal. My body trusts him. I let go, let the powerful undercurrents wash over me, through me, carry me to climax and beyond.

  I move round to stroke Cal’s chest and down over his stomach and abdomen to his erection, finding pleasure in his sharp intake of breath and low groan. This age-old dance of sexual connection is one our bodies know the steps to without being taught. But with Cal … well, it’s like upgrading from the awkward shuffle of teenagers at a school dance to a full-on dirty dance with two professional dancers. When he enters me, I wrap my legs around him, drawing him in deeper. I know when we take this slow it’s delicious but today there’s an urgency between us, like it’s post-fight sex, driven by a desire to put all bad feeling behind us, and quickly.

  That it wasn’t really a fight is purely down to Cal. I reacted emotionally, from a place of fear. Outside the window there’s a distant rumble of thunder. It’s warm in the room, and our bodies are slick with perspiration. I focus on Cal, on the man between my thighs, in my heart, in my head … Wasn’t I supposed to be holding part of myself back? Ha!

  I fix my eyes on his as I pull him deeper into me with my heels and my hands, wanting him harder, needing him closer.

  ‘Please, please don’t let me be wrong about you. Please don’t hurt me. I just couldn’t bear it.’ I beg Callum silently because saying no to him doesn’t feel like an option any more. He’s simply irresistible.

  There’s a shift deep inside of me, like a tipping point, not just an orgasm but
a seismic shift of some kind. He’s penetrating not just my body but the very heart of me. Our eyes lock and I feel the connection, soul to soul. Each thrust pushes away my resistance and erodes my barriers. It’s both terrifying and exhilarating.

  And I don’t want it to stop.

  Please, please let it be okay this time.

  I’m not sure who I’m begging, the Universe, the God of my Sunday School childhood or maybe Cal himself.

  When he holds me afterwards we’re both quiet, as though we know something important just shifted for us. A crisis bypassed. It’s raining now, torrential raindrops hitting the windowpanes. It might be turbulent outside but there’s a stillness and a peace in the room. I know Cal probably needs to get back to the barn, but I don’t get any sense he’s only holding me because it’s expected and he’s itching to get away. He hooks my ankle with one of his feet and pulls it over his leg so that I’m where he wants me. Yes, I’d say he’s definitely got me where he wants me. Stripped back, laid bare and his.

  All the doubts and inner reservations in the world mean diddly squat because I’m transfixed, mesmerised by Cal. There’s nothing on earth that could make me willingly throw this away. There’s no playing this down or pretending I have any real control over the situation. I’m his. I’m in love.

  And I’m lost.

  Chapter 11

  ‘When we deny the story, it defines us. When we own the story, we can write a brave new ending’

  Brené Brown

  Poppy’s Daydream Blog

  Hi, it’s JoJo here, Poppy’s housemate. She’s really busy with preparations for her wedding so she’s asked me to post a puppy update today! She said some of you wanted to know how things were going with the latest addition to our pack. So, here goes …

  Things Flump has chewed so far:

  My Kindle cover

  His dog bed

  My toothbrush

  The electricity bill

  A paperback copy of Eat, Pray, Love – I’d like to think he has an advanced sense of irony but really it was just the top book in the pile. He has ‘eat’ and ‘love’ covered already. He might want to learn to pray, if he’s going to keep up this current stream of chewy robberies!

  He steals pretty much anything he can get his paws on frankly. I’d forgotten what hard work puppies can be. I absolutely adore him but trying to stop him from killing himself by eating something poisonous, chewing electrical wires, leaping off of the sofa back to see if he can reach the desk or making a break for it to run towards the road is heart and panic attack inducing! I love him so much I can’t bear the thought of anything happening to him.

  He’s definitely a cross breed as he’s growing to be at least three times the size of Peanut and Treacle. The closest match I’ve found for him online is a Labrahuahua or a Golden Chihuatriever. Yes, they really are a thing. Who knew?

  One of his ears sticks up all the time while the other dangles down. Like Barney’s ears in fact. Barney is very gentle with Flump. They wrestle together and sit cuddled up with Flump using Barney as a sofa. I think they’ve formed a Sticky Up Ears club in solidarity. Dogs with uniformly positioned ears need not apply :-)

  From annabelgrant@thestickybun.co.uk

  To joannagrant@thestickybun.co.uk

  Subject: Hi

  Hi JoJo, how’s it going?

  I’m really glad to hear you say you’re happy again and it all sounds really wonderful but … Well this is difficult, but I need to ask – are you one hundred per cent sure he’s not using you? I’m sure you must’ve considered the fact that a high profile romance with you isn’t exactly going to hurt his media profile?

  Please don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying I don’t believe he could genuinely care about you – I think you’re amazing – but anyone who doesn’t love you to bits, just for you, doesn’t deserve you at all IMHO.

  Please don’t hate me for asking the question. You’re so far away and I can’t help worrying. I’m afraid you’re too close to the situation to be able to view his motives objectively. Remember you wouldn’t listen to anyone who tried to warn you about Aiden, you were so sure.

  I’m only asking you to think about this, properly think about this, because I love you and can’t bear to see you get hurt again.

  Love and xxxx

  Poppy and I drive to Toulouse to go wedding dress shopping. I practically had to kidnap her to get her here, so strong is her dislike of clothes shopping. Typically, she has left it really late, convinced she will find something off-the-peg that won’t need any alterations.

  We park beneath the Place du Capitole and exit the car park in the corner adjacent to the incredibly impressive Capitole building. The long, neo-classical facade dominates the vast square but the other three sides are lined with restaurants and shops.

  ‘Maybe I could just get a nice dress that isn’t a wedding dress?’ Poppy suggests, eying the shops up with as much enthusiasm as any hermit forced into a city centre to shop. ‘I still don’t know why you wouldn’t let me buy a dress off of the internet.’

  ‘Seriously?’ I loop my arm through hers, just in case she was thinking of making a break for it. ‘Because you can’t see it or touch it, never mind know if it is going to fit. For such an important occasion you just can’t leave it to chance.’

  ‘Mum wants me to wear her veil,’ Poppy says glumly as we head to a bridal shop I’ve marked on the map on my phone.

  ‘Have you ever thought of saying no?’

  ‘To Mum?’ Poppy looks horrified. ‘I’ve tried a few times but somehow it always comes out as yes. I don’t want to hurt her feelings.’

  ‘But this is your wedding, Poppy.’

  ‘Ha. I wish we could just elope, but we can’t do that to Leo’s parents. They are so looking forward to showing us off to the whole village. Oh, and apparently all the villagers expect to be invited in for an aperitif after the ceremony and would be incredibly offended not to be included.’

  ‘I’m glad we haven’t got to worry about that part of the proceedings. I know Madame Dubois will have it well in hand. I suppose it’s hard because you’ve got French and English wedding traditions and the different expectations of your parents and his to consider.’

  Poppy exhales loudly. ‘Haven’t I just?’

  ‘Is it getting to you?’

  I spot the shop we’re looking for and head towards it.

  ‘A bit.’

  ‘Have you told Leo?’

  She sighs. That’s a no then.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘He’s got a lot going on at the moment and with his dad being so ill recently he’s just focused on making it perfect for his parents. I don’t think he’s really thought about the culture clash. He doesn’t understand why planning the wedding is stressful. I get the impression all the planning is a bit more low-key here. Or he’s just being a bloke about it … I’m not sure which.’ She chews her lip.

  ‘Don’t let yourself get so stressed out trying to keep everyone happy, Poppy,’ I implore her. ‘Come on, you love Leo and you’re going to have a beautiful wedding reception at the Château. At least the groom came with the Château so you don’t have to worry about venues.’

  She manages a small smile.

  I head for the shop entrance, but Poppy goes to look at the window display first, instead of going to the front door.

  ‘That one. I want that dress.’ She points at an elegant dress on the mannequin making up the main display. It’s quite modern in style; it could almost be an evening dress. There is a little lace at the neckline and on the sleeves but apart from that it’s a plain pearly silk. It gathers loosely at the waist with a silky tie instead of having a fitted bodice and it then flows down, pooling in a silky swirl at floor length.

  ‘It’s beautiful but it is literally the first dress you’ve seen. You haven’t even set foot in the shop, never mind tried it on, and we still have appointments at two more places. Don’t you think we should have a look around a bit first?’


  ‘I want that one.’ Poppy’s tone is resolute.

  ‘It does look lovely and I can see you in it actually.’ I steer her to the doorway. ‘But let’s try a few others, just in case.’

  Because Poppy has trouble saying no to everyone, including me and the shop owner, she does obediently try on six other dresses but we leave with the first dress that Poppy saw and cancel the other appointments. As luck would have it they had one in her size and it’s a good fit. The hem is a little long and I have to talk Poppy out of doing the alterations herself, reminding her she has a book deadline before her wedding. Luckily, I persuade her that Madame Dubois would most likely be delighted to alter the hem for her. As she makes all her own clothes it’s an easy favour to ask.

  ‘So, are you happy?’ I ask Poppy.

  We are sipping ice-cold drinks, sitting at an outside table of one of the cafés overlooking the main square. Well, I’m sipping. She’s mostly biting her lip and staring into the distance.

  ‘Poppy?’ I prompt her.

  ‘Sorry, what?’ She turns and looks at me, expression blank.

  ‘Are you happy with your dress?’

  ‘Oh, the dress, yes, it’s perfect,’ she replies absently.

  ‘What’s wrong then?’

  ‘Mum’s veil is really old-fashioned. It just won’t go with the dress. I don’t know what to do.’ She stares at a bead of condensation running down the outside of her glass and traces its path with her finger.

  I ponder for a moment before speaking.

  ‘Okay, so don’t do it over the phone or by Skype, do it by email where you can think about your words more carefully,’ I suggest and take another sip of my fresh orange juice. It’s a hot day and the cold drink is very welcome. ‘How about saying that “the style of dress just won’t work with the veil – sorry, Mum. Though I do like the thought of incorporating something of yours into the ceremony.” How about that? Would that work, do you think?’