All That Mullarkey

by Sue Moorcroft

  He eased his hips away. Wouldn’t want to worry her with a stonking great erection. Mustn’t take advantage of a damsel in distress.

  But her chest touching his like that was a bit of an attention-grabber. He allowed one hand to drift from her nape to smooth the glossiness of her hair.

  And that’s when all hell broke loose at the front door, a creative rhythm of knock-knock-ring-ring, ring-ring-knock-knock.

  Cleo jerked backwards.

  After a moment, he rolled away from her. ‘I’ll see who it is.’

  Thump-thump, the beat in her heavy head pounded with every movement. But after five minutes with a cold flannel, her face no longer looked like uncooked sausage. Cleo combed her hair and trod downstairs.

  Justin had taken the visitor into the sitting room and hadn’t come back upstairs. Why would he? So she could blub all over him again? Men hated being cried over, he’d probably been delighted that answering the door had provided an excuse to leave.

  At the foot of the stairs she halted, recognising Drew’s voice over the companionable sound of hissing ring-pulls. Crap. Could she be bothered with Drew tonight? Probably not. She’d tried to get on with him when he called to see Justin, but it was a lost cause.

  Whether she kept in the background, ignored him, tried to be friendly or batted his little barbs straight back, he was offish and snippy towards her. But she wanted a glass of water because her throat was raw. And whose house was this, anyway? Was she a woman or a mouse?

  She got as far as the partly open door before Drew’s scornful tones stopped her. ‘So, where’s the mother of your child tonight?’

  She listened to Justin’s laconic, ‘Around.’

  Drew. ‘Thought you might be babysitting. Again.’

  Justin, taking a swig before answering. ‘Not tonight.’

  She was just considering stepping into view when Drew said, ‘So, why are you never out with your buddies?’

  ‘What about last Friday?’

  ‘The first time for a month! What’s the matter with you, mate? Surely she lets you off the leash sometimes? Off stud duties?’

  The leather of the sofa creaked before Justin replied. ‘No leash, no stud duty. But it’s my business – OK?’

  Cleo lifted her hand and wiped away a small bandana of sweat. This wasn’t very nice, listening, but she was kind of stuck. Maybe she should back quietly away. Or just stride in with a big smile and get herself that drink. She licked her lips.

  Drew’s laugh sliced across her thoughts. ‘So if I say, “Let’s go to the pub”, what do you say?’

  ‘Not tonight.’

  ‘Because you haven’t got permission?’

  She wished she could see Justin’s expression. His voice gave nothing away. ‘Because Cleo’s had some bad news and she’s upset. We can go tomorrow night, if you like. Or Friday.’

  She heard Drew sigh. ‘Jus, it was bad enough that when you found out you’d got a kid you showed dreadful signs of responsibility. But since you moved in here you’re a saint. Wake up, mate. She’s had to give up the clubbing and bad behaviour, so she’s settled for this domestic shit. She’s trapped and she’s trying to trap you with her.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ Justin’s voice sharpened.

  ‘This woman’s just a heap of baggage and a reasonable body.’

  ‘Oh come on. It’s more than reasonable –’

  ‘Justin, she’s got a husband and a child!’

  Cleo coughed loudly and sailed into the sitting room. Her sitting room. Face hot, which meant her colour was probably high, she stared at Drew. ‘Anyone want coffee?’

  He didn’t even have the grace to look uncomfortable, although he must have known he’d been overheard. He just stared right back.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  As she’d been awake for much of the night after the evening’s tears, her eyes looked like piggy little slits, pink and poisoned. But at least she’d made some decisions about her life in the long dark hours.

  Shona trotted round the bedroom clutching a cuddly snowman, her lips stuck out as she chirruped to herself. Cleo watched. Was there anything more gorgeous than Shona in her dressing gown?

  Dressed in a dark grey trouser suit with a flaming orange blouse, Cleo dried her hair into a glossy sheet, tossed the fringe about in an ‘I just got up and look this fantastic’ style, and set about her piggy pink eyes with soft eyeliner and thick mascara.

  Much better.

  She was in the kitchen, hoping Shona would soon finish her last toast finger, by the time Justin dashed in, looking sheepish. ‘I’ve just seen the cans from last night – mind if I leave clearing them up until tonight? I’m late. Is that my coffee? You’re an absolute angel. And you look great, by the way, something special on at work?’

  She wiped Shona’s fingers, shook her head. ‘It’s a “first day of the rest of my life” moment.’

  He gulped at the coffee, which could only be tepid by now. ‘Oh?’

  Moving on to Shona’s face, she nodded. ‘I’m going to stop being mumsy, hiding away in tracksuits. Now Shona’s past the baby stage I’m going to get a life.’ She lifted Shona out of the high chair and watched her reach her arms up to her father.

  Justin put down his coffee to take her. ‘You don’t wear tracksuits.’

  She pulled a face. ‘Figuratively, I do. I slob around at home and do nothing. Clive hasn’t even rung for a week, he’s probably fed up with making all the effort while I hedge in case something better happens.’ She laughed, to show she wasn’t taking herself too seriously. ‘He’s a nice, good-looking bloke and I ought to give him a go. It’s time we did the bed thing.’

  She held out her arms to take Shona back. ‘I’m going to rejoin the world. Take a salsa class, maybe, get out with Liza or Dora. Perhaps I’ll even go down and see Rhianne for a weekend. These are things I should be doing.’

  He moved slightly to block her way. ‘Why should you?’

  She flicked back her hair. She could hardly say, ‘To prove to Drew that I’m not a needy bitch that you feel obliged to keep company.’ Instead, she breezed, ‘Because I can.’

  Justin watched her at the evening meal. She seemed brittle and restless.

  She’d had her hair cut during the day, it was all feathery at the bottom. First he’d thought he didn’t like it, then as he’d watched it moving round her face he’d decided it was fabulous. ‘Nice hair,’ he mentioned, casually.

  She tossed it back from her eyes as she ran hot water in the sink. ‘By the way, can you sit for Shona on Friday? I rang Clive and –’

  He shook his head. ‘Sorry. I’ve arranged to go out with Drew on Friday. I can do Saturday.’

  She wrinkled her nose as she did when something didn’t suit her. ‘Clive has something special planned. A friend of his is in a show, on Friday there’s a big dinner afterwards. You couldn’t swap to Saturday?’

  He didn’t even pretend to consider. ‘Sorry.’

  Bedtime duty, his turn. When he went downstairs Cleo was just putting the phone down. ‘Liza says she’ll have Shona overnight at her place on Friday, so we can both go out.’

  ‘I must remember to tell her how grateful I am.’ Not.

  Much as she loved her darling daughter, it was bliss to drive her over to her Auntie Liza and then come home and get ready without Shona dabbling her fingers in the face powder or trying to stick her face between the hairdryer and Cleo’s hair. To be able to play around with her new haircut and get it exactly as she wanted it.

  She’d even time to paint her nails, sad little ovals compared with the tailored talons of pre-Shona days, but still worth a coat of blood red. Her eyes were sexy, smudgy works of art, her lips a kissable invitation, her breasts more than a hint at the neckline of her short, black dress. Step into ridiculous shoes that no one in their right mind would wear for more than ten minutes, and there! Cleo, ready for action. Clean knickers and toothbrush in handbag, irresistible and up for it.

  OK, not quite as up for it as
she could be, perhaps not dancing with big-date, knicker-wetting anticipation at the thought of letting Clive seduce her. But it should be quite a pleasant evening. A show. Dinner. Sex.

  Presumably, once she embarked on The Act she’d garner a little more enthusiasm.

  In her ridiculous shoes she stalked downstairs for a steadying glass of wine. Justin, who hadn’t yet left for his own evening of jollies, was flicking at his hair in front of the mirror. He stopped. He looked.

  Nervously, she grinned. ‘Do I look OK?’

  After a second he nodded. ‘Totally fuck-off fabulous.’

  ‘Oh.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Wine?’

  He took the glass she offered. ‘Dutch courage?’

  She felt herself flush. ‘No! Yes. Not really.’

  He nodded slowly. He seemed to be in one of his non-smiling moods. ‘Is tonight still “the night”?’

  She grimaced. ‘Yes. Probably. I think so. It’s time –’

  ‘Probably – because it’s time?’ He laughed suddenly, looking, as he always did, nine hundred per cent nicer. ‘Not because you’re burning for him or you think it’s going to be a fabulous fantastic experience? Not even because you expect to be drunk and it’ll seem a good idea?’ He moved nearer.

  She swallowed.

  His eyes locked with hers. She felt as if she’d become super-sensitive, could feel the heat from his body, even the chill from his glass across the stride that separated them.

  She swallowed again. ‘Well, I’m going now. Have a nice evening –’

  ‘But you owe me that sex.’

  Chapter Forty-Six

  His words snapped out like a whip to grab her round the heart. She laughed, incredulously. ‘That’s preposterous. “But you owe me that sex”, as if it was twenty quid I’d borrowed!’

  He smiled. ‘Sex can’t be equated with money.’

  She waited vainly for some explanation, cheeks on fire, throat constricted. Then she launched into stumbling speech herself, voice squeaky with outrage. ‘You think you did me a favour, do you? But we had s-s-sex,’ she could hardly say the word. ‘We. Reciprocal situation. No favours involved.’ She clenched her fists, felt palms clammy with fury.

  He allowed her to stutter to a halt. ‘We had sex because you weren’t getting any – I was sorted.’

  ‘You stopped me going home with Brad!’

  He shook his head. ‘Just like when we met, I offered an option. I didn’t “stop” you doing a thing.’ Apparently impassive, he sipped his wine, the only hint that he might be anything but calm lying in the glitter of his eyes. She imagined this was how he’d be during a workplace disagreement, calm, thoughtful, putting forward awkward little arguments to wrong-foot his opponent.

  Whereas she, infuriatingly, felt as if she were being tossed about by a fairground ride; throat drying, heart chugging, face hectic. She heard her own nervous laugh. ‘I ought to be really angry with you, this is scandalous. You can’t hold me to ransom, for sex. We made no bargain, you never said you expected the “favour” returned.’

  His glass was almost empty. ‘There was no bargain. But maybe a moral obligation.’

  Her temper began to blossom; she could feel her control sliding. ‘Moral! How you, you manipulating arse, have the absolute face to even say the word! This is the most immoral thing I’ve heard, you can’t insist on the return of sex! It’s not nice!’

  His eyes were so bright she could almost count the golden flecks. ‘Sometimes I’m not nice.’

  Something seemed to have happened to her throat to trip up her breath and make her words emerge in gasps. ‘So … so you’re saying you want sex? I ought to ring Clive, perhaps, and stand him up? And we’ll –’ Words failed her.

  Justin smiled.

  Boiling, shaking, Cleo snatched up her bag and coat, fished out her car keys. ‘And when I refuse?’

  He shrugged. ‘I won’t insist.’

  ‘You won’t …?’ And suddenly she was yelling. ‘You absurd, arrogant bastard! Go play with yourself!’ On that satisfactorily juvenile note she flung herself from the room, slam through one door, bang through the next.

  She was trembling, could hardly find the ignition, let alone drive. Bastard! Awful, treacherous, unreasonable bastard. How dare he suggest that she owed him? As if she should’ve expected that, at some unspecified time, he’d call the favour in and want to go to bed with her.

  Want to go to bed with her? As if!

  Palms damp, she wiped them down her dress. ‘Get a grip.’ Why on earth was she getting so excited? A minor disagreement with Justin, a difference of opinion, that’s all it was. No reason for constant gulps of fresh air, sweaty hands, trembling legs. It’s not as if he’d tried to force her into anything, all he’d said, if she was analytical, was that he wanted her.

  And she’d got all excited.

  So that had gone atrociously. He poured himself another glass of wine, hearing the bottle chatter slightly against the glass. A total balls-up. Words he hadn’t meant to say had burbled out on their own, he’d grinned when he should’ve apologised and, basically, acted like a prick.

  So.

  Cleo had dashed off, furious, to spend the night with yukky Clive. Predictable. He knew well enough that Cleo liked to confound people. Perhaps he should’ve insisted she vault between Clive’s sheets immediately, then she would have refused to go to bed with Clive even if he was wrapped in a gold-spangled certificate of merit. Cleo made her own decisions.

  Then he heard the front door reopen. He flicked his eyes to the doorway. And smiled.

  Hair wind-tossed, cheeks flushed, chest heaving as if she’d run all the way from Peterborough, her dress clung to places he’d like to cling himself. She looked edible. He poured her another glass of wine and tried to sound calm. ‘What about Clive?’

  She shrugged. ‘Maybe I’m better with the devil I know.’ Then she smiled back, a naughty, knowing, sexy smile.

  She rang Clive, because she didn’t want him waiting around all night, and Justin didn’t want him turning up. But she only got as far as, ‘Sorry, I can’t make it tonight, something’s come up.’ That’s when Justin took her phone and snapped it shut, turning her face up to his as his hands slid her coat from her shoulders, as he brushed the cords of her neck with his fingertips, making her dizzy with desire.

  He steered her from the room, covering her face with kisses as he backed her one step at a time up the staircase, laughing because it made her shriek every time she stumbled and he fell on top of her.

  And they kicked off their shoes and fell onto her duvet, struggling with zips and buttons, enmeshed in a porridge of half-removed garments and inquisitive hands as Justin groaned, ‘Hell, you’re pretty. All over.’

  Perfect, it was a perfect night. Everything was perfect. Even the condoms behaved impeccably.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Cleo lay awake and watched the light brighten around the curtain edges and ripple in a fan shape across her ceiling. The cold light of day.

  A stark contrast to the hot darkness of night.

  It had been pretty wonderful, again, annoyingly enough. Absolutely wonderful, hot, sweaty, delicious sex. And if there was a next time, it would probably be astonishingly wonderful. But would there be a next time?

  Better not. Anyone could see it was crazy. Sex with Justin had been the catalyst to change her life. An episode that should’ve ended when she went home and might well have done if she hadn’t, inconveniently, been so pregnant.

  She watched the fan of light brighten. But she wouldn’t want to still be married to Gav, not knowing that they had lived a lie, that he was a consummate underhand dealer. So the pregnancy had been a good thing and Shona was a fantastic, marvellous thing. But also the thing that made Justin part of her life again.

  Reluctantly, he’d said. No future and only a grubby past.

  He seemed to have ended up liking her despite himself, but he didn’t trust her. And it was no good to keep swallowing that information afterw
ards, like another form of morning-after pill. They shouldn’t have done it again.

  And this living together thing wasn’t going to work because there was always going to be the danger of it happening.

  A single tear seeped from the corner of her eye. She brushed it away.

  No good feeling sorry for herself! She must fetch her daughter from Liza’s flat. She must apologise to Clive. What she didn’t want was for Justin to wake and reach for her. That would just make everything more difficult.

  Stealthily, she lifted the covers to swing her legs from the bed. But came to an abrupt halt. ‘Ouch!’ She rubbed at the burning part of her scalp and tried to reach behind her head to free her hair where it was caught under Justin. Then a hand looped fingers with hers.

  His voice was early morning grumbly. ‘Why have you been glaring ferociously at the ceiling?’

  She rolled back down. Sighed. ‘We shouldn’t have done it.’

  When he frowned his spikes of hair quivered. ‘No good?’

  ‘Of course it was –’ She halted, laughed unwillingly. ‘You know how good.’

  ‘So what’s the problem?’ His thumb stroked her knuckles.

  She took a deep breath. ‘Because it’s never going to go any further, but it stops either of us getting it on with someone else.’ Another breath, still deeper. ‘I think you ought to move out. I know you’ve loved living with Shona and I’m sorry if leaving her is painful, but you can see her as much as you want. I don’t want you to be bound by some misplaced responsibility to me. You ought to be thinking of the rest of your life now, not babysitting, helping with my decorating and being couply.

  ‘For a while it gave you somewhere to get over all the shit Gav caused and me a chance to get on my feet. But the nuisance campaign’s over. And if this is going to keep happening –’ She jerked away and scurried for the bathroom.

  A nice hot shower, a few private tears, Justin would have time to vacate her room. She’d be bright and breezy again by the time she next saw him.