by Marian Keyes
‘The team in the red and white are our boys,’ Joe murmured to her.
‘I know!’ Tara had conveyed the basics.
‘Nice one,’ Joe praised. This got better and better.
The man on Katherine’s other side was a diehard who seemed to have a personal grudge against Everton. Repeatedly he leapt to his feet and roared, ‘Come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough!’
When Everton missed an open goal he burst into lusty and triumphant song. ‘Score in a brothel,’ he roared. ‘You couldn’t score in a brothel Score in a bro-oth-el. You couldn’t score in a brothel.’
Then to Katherine’s alarm, he elbowed her and said, ‘Come on, gewl, sing along. Everton bastards, Score, in a brothel…’
‘Sore throat,’ she murmured. ‘Can’t.’
Joe didn’t sing, but he was very focused and genuinely interested in what was going on. Katherine felt she should resent this – after all, why had he taken her if he’d planned to ignore her? – but she couldn’t get cross. His eyes were narrowed, flicking around, following the ball. Joe watched the match and Katherine watched Joe, his knife-handle cheekbones, his touch-me skin, his messier-than-at-work hair. Repeatedly he checked that she was all right. He was worried that she might be chilly but, though her cheeks had pinkened from the cold, it didn’t seem to matter.
Twenty minutes into the match, he shifted to her, bulky in his leather jacket. ‘You OK?’ he asked for the umpteenth time.
‘Yes.’ She flashed her little teeth prettily.
‘I can’t hear you,’ he said, quietly, angling his face towards hers. ‘Come closer.’
Thinking it was because of all the singing around them, she leant nearer and repeated, ‘I said, yes.’
‘I still can’t hear you,’ he echoed softly, his eyes dark. ‘Closer.’
Embarrassed at invading his personal space, she moved slightly more towards him, and said, ‘Yes, I’m OK.’
She was so close that she could see beneath his skin to where his stubble was growing in a mask around his jaw and mouth.
‘Still can’t hear you,’ he said again. By now his voice was nearly soundless, so that she was almost lip-reading.
Baffled, she pushed herself an inch or so further, so that they were breathing each other’s air, and reiterated, ‘I’m OK.’
‘Still can’t hear you,’ he mouthed.
There was about four inches between them, his warm apple-sweet breath surprising her chilled face. She couldn’t move any closer. Utterly still, their eyes locked, intensity in his, confusion in hers. And then she understood…
Somewhere, in another dimension, Everton missed another open goal and as her ears filled with the sound of thirty thousand Arsenal fans singing tunelessly, ‘You’re shi-i-i-it and you know you are,’ Joe Roth moved a short, short distance, darkening her vision. And kissed her.
57
Rob would have wept if he’d thought that his precious ticket had been frittered away by the occupant of his seat spending the entire match snogging. Luckily for him, they kissed only once.
But, as Katherine thought, what a kiss!
Her eyes were closed, her hands were on Joe’s face, pinpricks of stubble dragging on the pads of her fingers. A special, lime-sharp, clean-man smell reached her, and she noticed, from some remote place, how firm and dry his lips were. He clasped her nearer, his hand cradling the back of her silky head, and the kiss hardened and deepened, the heat of their fevered mouths contrasting with the coldness of their faces, making it all the more secret and delicious.
But, too soon, it stopped. Reluctantly they opened their eyes, and pulled away from each other, teetering on the edge of too much want. Reality came back into focus.
‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have… This isn’t the right place,’ Joe mumbled, his eyes opaque and stunned.
‘You’re right,’ she agreed, stupefied. Baffled at finding that they weren’t the only two people in the world.
They watched the rest of the match in a twilight agony of waiting. Apparently Arsenal won.
Then they got a taxi back to her place.
As soon as they were there, Katherine felt panicky. It was only five thirty, way too early for shenanigans. This was a mistake.
His presence filled her flat, and she wanted him to go. She hated feeling that she had a tiger by the tail, that she’d bitten off more than she could chew.
‘That’s the living-room,’ she fluttered, her nerves getting the better of her, ‘Sit down and I’ll put the kettle –’
She stopped abruptly as Joe put his fingers into the belt-loop of her jeans. ‘Come here,’ he said softly, pulling her towards him. She felt the tug, felt her feet moving across to him, felt her body arrive next to his. Silently, she watched the intimate, meaningful look as he lowered his face. Her skin was warmed by the heat of his sweet breath, then his mouth was on hers.
As she closed her eyes, she felt her body blossom like a flower. It’s too soon, she told herself, trying to want to stop. It’s too soon and I’ll stop in a minute.
But it was Joe who severed them. Trying to get his heart-rate back to normal, he smiled ruefully. ‘I’ll have you know I never sleep with someone on the first date.’
‘Neither do I,’ she said, haughtily.
‘Lucky we’re going on our second one later today, then, isn’t it?’ Joe grinned.
‘Don’t presume for one moment –’
‘I’m not,’ he said quickly, contritely. ‘Believe it or not, I was joking.’
‘Oh. So you do sleep with people on the first date?’
‘No, I… Oh, I see, another joke.’ And they smiled at each other.
‘So about this second date?’ she asked, smoothly.
‘Well, I said I’d feed you.’
‘And?’
‘I thought we’d go out. Up for that?’
‘Out where?’
‘Er… the Ivy,’ he said, embarrassed by his lavishness.
But she just said, ‘Fine. But would it be OK if I see you there?’
The thought of him waiting while she got ready was an intimacy that she just wasn’t ready for yet.
He looked disappointed, but said, ‘The table’s booked for eight. See you, then.’
He kissed her cheek, and as soon as the door had closed behind him, she did a most unKatherine-like dance in the hallway. She knew how hard it was to get a table at the Ivy.
Then she ran into her bedroom and pulled yet another bag from under the bed and unfolded a black, tight-sleeved, tailored dress. You wouldn’t exactly call it short, but it was short for her. After all, he was taking her to the Ivy, fair was fair.
In trembling anticipation she put her nail through the first pair of 7-denier black stockings. Luckily she was the kind of woman who always had several new pairs in her drawer. Then, in a fit of indecisiveness, she spent several seconds dithering between high-heeled black satin ankle boots and a pair of black patent sandals and finally decided on the boots because the sandals made her feel too vulnerable. Then the most excellent Jil Sander coat that she’d got in the January sales and she was ready.
She couldn’t resist ringing Tara. She knew she’d be mad keen to know how everything was going. But when the phone was answered Katherine thought she must have dialled the wrong number. She didn’t recognize the hoarse, incoherent voice that gasped, ‘Hello.’
‘Tara?’ she asked hesitantly.
‘Oh, Katherine.’ The voice collapsed.
Then Katherine realized that it was Tara, and that she was crying so hard she could hardly speak. ‘What’s wrong? Is it Fintan?’
‘No, it’s nothing, really.’
‘It can’t be nothing.’
‘It’s just Thomas. He’s such a prick.’
‘What’s he done?’ Katherine was horrified. She wouldn’t put it past Thomas to do something like have an affair.
‘He’s just a complete prick.’
‘Yes, but…’ Katherine didn’t know what to say. Of course T
homas was a prick. Nothing new there. Something else must have happened. ‘He’s not having an affair, is he?’
‘Why? Do you think there’s another woman in the world as stupid as me? Oh, I’ve just remembered,’ Tara interrupted, tearfully. ‘You’re on the date. Please tell me this is a happy phone call. Is it going well?’
‘Never mind that. Tell me what’s happened.’
‘Tomorrow. Please, Katherine, I honestly want to know if it’s going well.’
‘He’s kissed me twice and he’s taking me to the Ivy for dinner.’
‘The Ivy! I’m so glad, he obviously means business.’ Tara made a big effort to sound cheerful. ‘When you’re having the double chocolate mousse spare a thought for me.’
‘You don’t want me to come over to you?’ Katherine crossed her fingers, her arms, her legs and tried to do her toes, then clenched her eyes in fervent prayer.
Even Tara managed a little laugh. ‘As if.’
‘But will you be OK?’
‘Certainly I will. I’m sorry if I’ve messed with your buzz. Have a wonderful, wonderful time tonight and insist on your conjugals.’
‘If you’re sure…’
‘I swear on my granny’s life, I’m sure.’
When the taxi dropped Katherine outside the Ivy, it was just gone eight and she made herself go for a walk. It was OK waiting in a restaurant on her own when she was meeting the likes of Tara, but this was different. With great effort of will she managed to be a full ten minutes late. Not exactly super model-petulance, but groundbreaking for her all the same.
‘I’m meeting a Mr Roth,’ she told the maître d’.
He checked the list, then he checked it again. ‘I’m sorry, there’s no table in the name of Roth.’
Katherine’s stomach yawned with fear. Panicking she looked around the room and, with frantic relief, saw Joe sitting at a table behind a partition. He’d just seen her too and had hastily got up.
‘Oh, there he is, it’s OK.’ She smiled, indicating Joe.
‘That’s Mr Stallone,’ said the maître d’, his face unreadable.
‘Is it…?’
Joe had reached them.
‘Your guest has arrived, Mr Stallone,’ the maître d’ said politely.
‘Er, yes, thank you. This way, Katherine.’
‘Mr Stallone?’ Katherine whispered, as Joe held her chair for her.
‘It was the only way I could get a table at such short notice,’ he muttered.
There was a tiny, stunned pause, then a heave of mirth burst up through her. ‘Mr Stallone,’ she exploded, and began to laugh and couldn’t stop, doubled on to the table, crying tears of hilarity. Patiently, indulgently, he watched her. ‘Oh, God,’ she wheezed, wiping under her eyes. ‘I haven’t laughed so much in years.’
‘I’d hoped you wouldn’t find out. I was keeping an eye out for you but that bloody great partition blocked the view.’
‘I’m delighted I found out.’ She leant across the table towards him, her face radiant with sincerity. ‘I swear to God.’
The menus came and they ordered their food and wine.
Though there was so much that they didn’t know about each other, they mostly talked about their food. He described his deep-fried Brie to her and she told him all she could about the warm bacon salad she’d ordered. Almost like a conversation I’d have with Tara or Fintan, Katherine thought in surprise. Especially Tara.
This didn’t seem like a bad thing.
When the main course arrived, Katherine asked, genuinely interested, ‘Is your sole nice?’
‘Yes,’ said Joe. ‘Would you like some?’ He was already proffering his fork at her.
‘Er… no.’ She squirmed, heat in her cheeks.
‘Go on,’ he urged, in a low voice. ‘It’s delicious.’
‘That’s one of the corniest lines I’ve heard in a long time,’ she said, embarrassment making her want to deflate him. But it didn’t.
‘Go on,’ he repeated.
And aroused by his voice and the intimacy of the gesture, Katherine leant forward and let Joe put his fork in her mouth.
‘Nice?’ Joe asked her, meaningfully.
‘Nice,’ she agreed, shyly.
He watched every mouthful that she ate, focused on her mouth as she put food into it, his eyes warm on her lips as she chewed. She was embarrassed and aroused, and after the main course had to escape to the ladies’ for a breather from the sexual tension at the table.
At pudding time, in honour of Tara, she had the double chocolate mousse. As she was sliding a spoonful of white and dark chocolate into her mouth, she looked up and found Joe watching her intensely. The combination of the chocolate exploding on her tongue and the promise in his look, made her tingle like she’d just had a mini-orgasm.
Her body prickled with such anticipation she was almost afraid. It might happen tonight. It really might.
58
Afterwards they stood outside in the cold night.
What now?
‘We could have coffee at my place?’ Joe suggested.
‘In Battersea?’ she replied, her tone implying that it was a ridiculous notion. Reclaiming her right to be a schoolmarm.
‘Why not?’ he asked, seemingly unfazed by her derision.
Make him wait, she begged herself. Make him wait. Don’t give it away too easily.
‘No,’ she said.
Watching his anticipatory smile fade away gave her a moment of fierce pleasure before she said, ‘We’ll go to my place instead.’
In the taxi they held hands in silence. Without speaking she let them into her flat, then carefully shut the door. And prepared to embark on the first carnal knowledge she’d had of a man in over two years.
It was as if they’d been catapulted at each other. Immediately, still in their coats, standing right beside the front door, they were in each other’s arms, kissing frantically, desperately. She was barely aware of Joe deftly removing her coat, which fell in an abandoned crumple on the hall floor, before he steered her into the living-room and to the couch. Still kissing her, he put gentle pressure on her shoulders and forced her down, so that she was lying on her back. Then he kissed her for what seemed like several hours. Every time she tried to sit up or speak to him he’d force her back on to the couch and start again. He devoted himself to it, to her. Kissing is an art form in itself, she thought, in a daze. Not just a precursor to the main event.
She had her eyes closed and felt as if she’d gone into a trance. Deep inside her head she was flying, over fields of colour, over landscapes of stars. Who needs drugs? she thought.
It was a long time since she’d been kissed like that. Well, it was a long time since she’d been kissed at all. How could she have lived without it?
She barely knew where she was and when she opened her eyes she was surprised by the mundanity of her living-room.
All the time he was kissing her he touched and stroked her, slowly, maddeningly. Feathery circles with his long, sensitive fingers on her skin, her face, her neck, her arms. Then he was caressing her stomach through her dress, and then slowly moved higher to her ribcage. And then higher still until he was almost at her breasts. Beneath her lacy bra her nipples made two tents. They were shrieking for his touch, but instead he stroked underneath her breast and then the softness of the side, then around to the hollow of her cleavage. In slowly decreasing circles, he began to move inwards until he was touching the mound of her right breast. Slowly, too slowly, he kept moving inwards, inching across the tight fabric. When, after what seemed like hours, he reached her nipple and gently flicked it with his forefinger, she felt as if she’d come.
He lay half on half off her and his erection dug into her hipbone. It was excruciatingly pleasurable.
When he put his hand on her leg and moved it up under her skirt and when he found that she was – as he’d hoped – wearing stockings instead of tights, his mastery nearly deserted him.
He started circling her thighs. First the fr
ont, then the outside, then dipping into the soft virgin skin of her inner thighs, before moving back to the front again.
‘No,’ he chided, as she began to buck her hips, and he forced them back on to the couch, with the palm of his hand pressed against her pubic bone. Again, sweet pleasure rippled through her.
She itched to touch him, to splay her fingers between his ribs, to stroke his stomach with her thumb, to feel the muscles in his thighs. With fumbling fingers she undid his shirt buttons, then shifted, sat up and placed her hands flat against the crispness of his chest hair. To his surprise she pushed him so that he was lying flat on the couch and she was looking down on him.
They smiled silently, dazedly, at each other.
His shirt was all undone and there was something about the way his hollowed-out belly created a gap between the waistband of his jeans that made Katherine slip her hand in. Laying the palm of her hand against the frayed-rope line of hair on his stomach, and then with a little swivel, moving her fingers slightly lower. And lower still. And then into contact with his pubic hair.
He groaned and murmured, ‘Katherine…’
Looking into her eyes he barely recognized her as the buttoned-up girl he worked with. She was a predatory woman.
Again he began to kiss her and turned her around so that once more she was the one underneath. But she couldn’t wait any longer.
‘Please,’ she begged, tugging at her dress and trying to shuffle it up around her waist. He stood up and quickly undid his belt and buttons and stepped out of his jeans, underpants and socks. His skin was moonstone translucent, so pale that the darkness of his pubic hair came as a shock against it. His waist was tiny, his stomach concave and tugged-looking, as if there wasn’t enough skin to stretch all the way down to his groin. His thighs were long and lean, his hips as narrow as hers, his erection taut and quivery. He was beautiful.
He helped her out of her dress but, with silent, mutual consent, they left her underwear on. Joe knelt with one leg between both of hers as he snapped on a condom, then he pulled her lace panties to one side. As he slid into her and lowered his heavy weight down on top of her, Katherine thought she’d died and gone to heaven.
