by Billy London
“I am so sorry I’m late,” she trilled. “Child care issues, but I am ready to talk figures and projections and getting this new salon ready.”
Her assistant leaned over as she sat down and ventured delicately, “Mrs. Strøm?”
“Yes?”
“You’ve got vomit on your shoe.”
***
Will wouldn’t shut up about his brother. Almost as if he was convinced that his mother had done away with him and there was a government conspiracy involved in Danny’s disappearance. He ate dinner, talking through mouthfuls of mashed potato, peas, and grilled fish to explain his theory.
Stella’s mind was on getting her suede shoes professionally cleaned and the wrinkle of disgust on the bank manager’s nose as he barely agreed to the loan for the second salon.
The phone rang and Will leapt to answer it in the dining room. “Strøm!” he announced. “Dad!”
Stella rolled her eyes, then remembered her other child was being watched by the Prick. The very least she could do was make sure her son still breathed.
“Yeah,” Will continued. “Muma’s here. I’m fine. Yeah, he yacked and everything. No school? That’s not fair. Okay, I suppose. Love you too, Dad.” He handed out the phone to Stella, a wide grin on his face. With tar-like discomfort rolling through her, Stella collected the phone.
“How did your meeting go?” he asked, sarcasm rolling through his deep voice.
“Really well, thank you for asking. How’s my son?”
“Our son is chucking his little guts up. I have a feeling our other son will be doing the same very soon.”
“Doubtful.”
“Most certainly. Before he passes the same terrible thing onto you, I suggest you bring William over to me. I’ve moved my meetings to next week, everything else I can deal with from home.”
What. The. Fuck? “I don’t think that’s necessary,” Stella said dismissively.
“They were coming over to me for the weekend anyway. No point in putting it off if William’s going to be ill. I don’t want to miss out on my time with them.”
And if she didn’t, she’d be in breach of their stupid contact order. That fucking judge thought Stella had life too easy. If only he knew. Dick stain didn’t have a sodding clue. “Let him be tonight and if he’s dodgy tomorrow, I’ll drop him around. If he’s not, I’m not exposing him to flu just so you get time with him. That’s what Skype is for.”
“It’s not the same, Stella.”
No, it wasn’t. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Let me speak to Danny.”
“All right then. Tomorrow.”
She heard the scrambling of the phone and a croaky-voiced Danny answered. “Hi Muma.”
The weakness of his tone clogged her throat with tears. “Hello, darling. How are you feeling?”
“Like bollocks, Muma.”
“Who taught you that horrible word?” she demanded, tears drying instantly at his language.
“You said it when we had a flat tyre last week before school. I do feel bad. Dad’s given me Lucozade and Ribena and Robinsons and coconut water. I think I’ve stopped throwing up.”
“That’s something. But keep drinking lots of water and juice. Are you hot? Has your dad put a cold flannel on your head?”
“Yes, I’ve got one. You should come, too. We’re watching TV in my bed. Like we used to on Sundays.”
She breathed out slowly until the urge to curse her husband for ruining every aspect of their lives together passed. “That sounds lovely, darling. Listen, get some rest and I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay Muma. Nighty night.”
“Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
He passed the phone back to Niels. “I’ll call tomorrow, make sure Will’s okay.”
“He’s with me.” She threw off his irritating suggestion. “He’ll be fine.”
Ten hours later, on her hands and knees wiping up something unspeakably disgusting, Stella took back every word of her suggestion that her son could simply sidestep a virus, even though she’d spent the better part of the evening spraying the house with an antibacterial aerosol. With pinpricks of pain needling her head, foretelling an undeserved migraine on the way, Stella packed her second sick child into her car and headed for Niels’ home. Her ex-husband lounged in the doorway as she pulled up.
Will weakly lifted his arm to wave to his father as Stella heaved him out of the car and rolled his overnight bag onto her shoulder. Niels took it from her, by her side in two short leaps. “Come in.”
Stella hadn’t stepped foot inside his home and had only seen pictures of the boys playing together within these much-lauded four walls. The interior wasn’t much different from her own, walls a subtle shade of grey that didn’t show scuff marks the same way white walls did. It was spacious, clean, and just like the man, meticulous. Niels placed the bag down in the hall way and lifted Will from Stella.
“Go and make yourself a coffee. I’ll just put him to bed.”
Stella jerked a thumb in the direction of her car. “I really do need to go to the new premises…”
“Stay and have a coffee,” he repeated, taking Will upstairs and out of her sight. She rubbed her forehead. A coffee would only make her migraine worse.
Closing the front door behind her, she trudged to the kitchen and flicked on the kettle. Now where the damn hell is everything, she asked the empty room. Leaning forward, she rested her head on the cold marble of the centre bar and closed her eyes.
She felt the heat of a palm on her lower back. “Stella?” Niels prompted softly. “Are you feeling sick?” Her mouth flooded with saliva and her stomach rolled with irritation. “All right, come on.”
“No, I’m all right. I’ve gone to work on worse…” Oh, talking did not improve that sensation. Gently coaxing her hair from her face, he edged her to the sink and the scent of lemon made her stomach protest violently. Her morning cup of tea went the same way as Will’s Weetabix.
“You’re not going anywhere, either.”
“Can’t stay here,” she groaned.
“Yes, you can. Don’t argue with me, woman.” He swung her easily into his arms and carried her up the stairs to a grand bedroom. A large king-sized bed dominated the room, decorated in simple grey, black, and white.
“I can’t, Niels,” she tried to lift herself out of his hold only for him to grip tighter.
He placed her on the bed and removed her shoes. “Just for once, be quiet and rest. You’re not going to feel any better for at least forty-eight hours. No work, no cleaning, no cooking, and definitely no driving in your state.”
His hands tunnelled under her pearl-studded jumper, lifting it over her head. He discarded her pencil skirt in much the same way and took her tights with the skirt. There was something unnaturally clinical about the way he undressed her. As if she was another sick child. Had she the strength to smack his hands away, she would have done. Smacked him right around his big head.
He tucked her into one of his T-shirts with the direction not to throw up over it and unclipped her bra with the T-shirt on, maintaining her dignity. Not that he hadn’t licked, sucked, or bitten her puppies, only difference being, he wasn’t legally allowed to touch her personage.
As he tucked her beneath his duvet, he said gently, “I’ll bring you a bowl and some painkillers for the headache.”
“Aren’t you going to get this?” she asked.
He smirked. “I don’t get sick. You know that.”
“Twat,” she muttered to his amusement. Before she could say anything else, he’d left the room. Slick bastard. She was in his bed undressed. It was their first date all over again…
Chapter Six
Two years before marriage
Stella hid her face behind her hands. She couldn’t believe he was doing this. The man had no shame! That, or the dinner they’d had at a Prohibition-style restaurant had far too much rum in the cake Niels ate for dessert.
He’d taken her by the
hand and they’d looked for somewhere to have a drink. In the underground bar of a converted public toilet, a cabaret singer belted out show tunes in between swings of gin and tonic. Niels handed her an ice bucket filled with warm salted popcorn and a glass of champagne.
As far as first dates went, she’d been delighted, surprised, and enamoured by the Viking blond who’d taken charge where no man had dared to before. When the singer beckoned to Niels to join her, the man brushed his lips over Stella’s jaw and joined the singer in a rousing chorus of “Life is a Cabaret”. The rest of the patrons cheered at his tuneful rendition, chorus line kicks, and jazz hands included.
The singer kissed him on both cheeks to applause and whoops before directing to Stella, “You are a lucky little cat!”
“Yes, I am,” she agreed on a laugh. Niels had a bright red lipstick stain on either side of his face. Jealousy lit inside Stella like a beacon of ownership. She took a napkin, dipped it in some water, and gently wiped the lipstick from his marble-smooth skin.
“All gone?” he asked, his gaze focused on her lips.
Pressing her lips together, she discarded the napkin and picked up her glass. “Like you haven’t been kissed by a woman old enough to be your grandmother.”
He sucked in a breath. “Ooh, ouch. I think champagne makes you mean.” Truly it did. He removed the glass from her fingertips and clutched her hand. “Let’s go.”
If he insisted. “Does this mean you were meant to be a singer in another life? Serenading people in converted public loos?” she asked as they began walking across Waterloo Bridge. His fingers interlocked with hers, stroking back and forth, their arms swinging casually in the space between them.
“I thought I’d end up on Eurovision.”
Stella laughed until tears ran down her face. “Eurovision? In something tight?”
“And sparkly.”
“With backing dancers?”
“And a catchy tune. This is what the UK doesn’t understand. Le Royaume-Uni. Like any competition, you should take it seriously. You may take it as a joke. The rest of Europe doesn’t.”
“That’s because your music is pony,” Stella said dismissively.
“Didn’t you send a group called the Cheeky Girls to Eurovision?”
“Aww, that’s not fair! At least they were memorable. I can’t remember the last Danish entry.”
He sent her a look of dismissal. “Were you watching or were you drinking?”
“Someone’s patriotic,” she teased.
Niels came to a halt and tugged her hand. She collided into the hard muscle of his torso and gasped at the feel of him pressed against her. They’d been in close proximity for hours, but now the heat of him radiated through her, sensation brushing deliberately between her thighs. She almost begged him to touch her there; it overwhelmed her. It should have frightened her; the intensity of her attraction to him but for the first time, Stella let it wave over her, wind through her blood like expensive liquor.
He lowered his head, the lights of the Southside of London’s landmarks playing over his face in hypnotic array, the colours dancing behind her eyelids as he kissed her. His touch felt all at once familiar and explosively new, like a brand of ownership. You’re mine, his mouth told her, as a simple reminder of his claim.
She’d never been one for displays of affection in public, but with Niels’ mouth on hers, his hands locked just above the curve of her bottom, pressing her firmly between his thighs, she didn’t know if anyone was passing by, commenting, or telling them to go somewhere else with that nonsense. All she was certain of was the real possibility of her going along with any suggestion he came up with. She was completely under his spell. His to command.
“We should go,” he murmured against her lips.
Stella didn’t open her eyes. “I’m okay where I am.” She cracked open an eyelid when she noticed the kissing was not to be resumed. Even a pout didn’t start it up. Keeping an arm around her, Niels walked her across the remainder of the bridge, to the tube station. She felt entranced as he pulled her through the ticket barriers and onto the escalators, holding her to his back.
He stroked his hand up and down the length of her bare thigh, grazing the gusset of her knickers, to her enflamed gasp.
“Calm down, Stella.” He threw the words over his shoulder. “When I do fuck you, it’s going to be private so I can take all the time I need.”
“Now?” she murmured against his neck, the woollen collar scratching her cheek.
“We’re inside a tube station, so the answer is no.”
“Okay.” She acquiesced. “Now?”
The escalator levelled off and he tugged her in the southbound direction of the trains.
“Private, Stella. I don’t think you’re ready for the type of voyeurism I’m into.”
Interesting. “Tell me.”
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, tucking her into the nook of his body. With his mouth caressing her earlobe, he whispered such fantasies, Stella’s breathing turned shallow and her whole body melted like ice cream over a chocolate fondant.
Niels held her with his ice-blue eyes, his blond-tipped lashes casting shadows over his angular face. “Will you be patient now?”
She took a deep breath. “You need to take me home with you.”
***
Stella felt small fingers peeling back her eyelids. The bed felt unfamiliar. Not dipped where her body had created a nice dent with her body weight. This mattress felt as unyielding as brick. She remained in Niels’ territory. Stupid stomach flu.
“Muma, are you dead?” came Danny’s worried voice.
“Daniel,” Niels warned sternly, “leave your mother alone.”
“Hello Danny, darling,” she murmured, before her thundering migraine possessed the power of speech. Blinking the brightness of the overhead lights away, she heard footsteps retreating. A moment later, she felt Niels lean over her and press an ice-cold flannel to her head. The migraine withdrew enough for her to open her eyes properly.
“Any nausea?” he asked, helping her to sit up.
“Don’t fuss,” she grumbled, taking the flannel off her head with shaking hands. “I’m all right.”
“You’ve been asleep for the better part of the day. It’s almost nine.”
“At night?” Her voice rose to a squawk.
He blinked patiently. “Yes, at night. It’s dark outside, look.” He nodded to the large bay windows, the street lights starkly white in the blackness.
“Nine and the boys are still up?”
“They’ve been sleeping, too.”
Stella tried to moisten a desert-dry mouth with saliva. “I need to call into work…”
“I called them,” Niels interrupted, taking a glass and waving it under her nose. It bubbled and fizzed against her face in waves of ginger fragrance. She took several gulps and handed the glass back. “Better?
“Hmm. What did you say? Who did you speak to?”
“That over-efficient little sheep you have, what’s her name? Reema? I explained you were ill and not to be disturbed for forty-eight hours at least.”
No one would blame her if she killed him. Not really. “I’m all right.”
“Course you are. I woke the boys up to eat some soup. Can you manage a little?” She shook her head and cursed herself for moving. “All right, don’t trouble yourself. Have some water. And here.” He pressed two tabs of paracetamol into her palm and handed her a glass of water. “That should sort out the headache.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, gulping down the tablets and liquid. Resting back against the pillows, she examined him. The concern in his eyes was extraordinarily disconcerting. She hadn’t seen him this worried about her since…well, since she gave birth to the twins. Stella had been sick since, but she’d simply worked through it. Even if she had a minute to indulge a migraine or a cold or symptoms of a fever, she had two children to look after, a house to run, a business to support, and a husband with far too busy hands to t
ame. She was too used to doing things alone.
The majority of her life she had played the role of the responsible one, the sensible one, the reliable one. There wasn’t time for anything and she couldn’t bring herself to even suggest to Niels that he pitch in. Whatever he said, he was a traditionalist. He didn’t like that she remained working. He despised that she never took his surname, even though everyone insisted on calling her Mrs. Strøm. Niels wanted a housewife. Stella was Wonder Woman.
“What?” she asked, pulling the duvet up to her chin.
He breathed a laugh through his nose and stood up. “Not to worry, Stella. Nothing will penetrate your force field tonight.”
“That includes you,” she warned him.
Niels burst out laughing. “The comatose female has never given me wood. Go back to sleep.”
Waving her middle finger in his general direction, Stella turned onto her side and closed her eyes. She heard the drawing of blinds and the snap of the side lights turning off. In minutes she was fast asleep, the pain in her head at a muted throb.
***
Five years married
She always believed people exaggerated about the terrible twos. All it would take was a firm voice and clear direction for her beloved twins to behave. She’d been misled.
Niels watched with her in horror as Danny meted out the worst tantrum she had ever seen off television about a denied packet of sweets at the tills.
“Haaaaaaaaate you!” he screamed, throwing packets everywhere. Even Will looked surprised by the outburst.
Something snapped Niels into action. Whether it was the cashier asking them how they wanted to pay; or the woman behind them tutting about misbehaving children, Stella had no idea. But in a flash, Niels lifted Danny from the trolley and marched out of the supermarket.
Stella hurried up and paid, packing their weekly shop into the trolley. Man, all they’d wanted was some ice cream. That’s all. And maybe some baby biscuits for the kids. Instead, they remembered everything had run out and the shop took longer than necessary. Stella couldn’t manage on her own and Niels knew divide and conquer worked well with the boys. Will looked up at his mother.
