by Carol Thomas
“What? What kind of childhood did you have? That won’t do, come on.”
With that Bradley leapt off the prom onto the stones, holding out his hand. Declining his offer of help, Abby jumped down. The stones scrunched around her wedged heels; there was no way they were coming out of this unscathed.
“Pick your stone.” With a grin Brad motioned at the array of stones before them.
Abby bent and picked a pebble she liked because it looked pretty. Brad studied the ground, sifting through stones and pebbles with a discerning eye. He looked up at Abby.
“That’s it? That’s your weapon of choice?”
Abby looked at the little round stone in her hand. “It’s pretty.”
“Abby, consider the physics of it.”
Oh blimey, I hate physics! She gave him a quizzical look.
“Pick a stone that’s flat.”
As he spoke he opened Abby’s hand, which had closed protectively around her pretty pebble, and brushed the stone away. He traced a circle round her palm with his index finger.
Abby drew in a breath and coughed to disguise it.
“About palm size.” he added.
“OK.” She snatched her hand away and looked down at the ground, scanning the stones. Blimey, who knew stone-skimming was such a science? “Smooth or rough?” Now she was putting her science head on; she didn’t want Brad to think she was completely devoid of stone-skimming sense.
“Now there’s a debate.” Brad grinned. “Smooth for bounce or dimpled for less drag on the water, that’s up to you.”
Abby laughed. Was he actually taking it seriously, or was it a joke? She couldn’t tell. She hoped he was joking. Looking down Abby spotted an almost palm-sized flat stone; it was slightly dimpled. She had a flashback to Simon holding a similar stone, chasing Jessica along the beach at Watergate Bay pretending it was a fossilised dragon scale – her squeals of laughter had ricocheted off the cliffs.
“Dimpled,” she affirmed, picking up and tossing the stone in her hand, feeling smugly optimistic about its skimming qualities.
Brad picked his stone too. The challenge was on.
Reaching the froth of the shore, Abby swung her arm like a bowler with her eye on the wicket.
Brad looked at her, his head cocked to one side. “You really haven’t done this before have you?”
“Umm, no.”
Bradley moved in close to her, putting his arm along hers and taking her hand in his. Oh! She could smell him; clean, fresh and the distinct heady scent of Vera Wang aftershave. It was one Simon had worn a few years back. Brad’s breath on her neck sent goosebumps tingling down her side.
“You need to crouch. Hit the water between ten and fifteen degrees, twenty tops.”
As he bent her over, Abby could feel his weight pressed against her. She was sure he would be able to feel her pulse racing in her wrist; maybe even hear the thud of her heart it was pounding so hard. She didn’t move. As if to demonstrate the throw he flung her arm in the direction of the water, his body pressing more firmly against her with the movement. Now she could feel all of him, oh so very close. Oh! She hurriedly freed herself from his proximity to retain her composure.
“Really? We’re on maths now? You do know school’s out for the day?” she mocked, hoping not to reveal how flustered she really felt. “I thought this was strictly adult time.” Oh God no, that sounds wrong!
Brad laughed and stepped round in front of Abby. “Here, watch.” Crouching, one leg outstretched, he held the stone between his thumb and forefinger, leaned and flung it, giving it a slight spin as it went. Abby couldn’t help but notice how his stance pulled his trousers tighter, revealing flexing muscles as he moved.
“Five! Not bad – not great but not bad!”
“What?”
“Five skips, pretty impressive.”
I forgot to look. “Well done! My turn.”
Abby moved to the water, crouched in the style of Brad and emulated his grip on the stone; that much she had seen. Now the throw; how did that go? Unsure, Abby opted for what she thought was about a twenty-degree trajectory. Two can take this seriously you know Mr Hunter! Abby watched, mouth agape, as her stone bounced across the surface of the water. “Four, five, six, seven – SEVEN! Bloody hell Brad, SEVEN!”
Overjoyed at having made the stone skip she turned and flung her arms round him. “I am bloody excellent at ducks and drakes, I am! Did you see, Brad? I—” Abby abruptly halted her declaration when she realised she had moved from shaking his firm biceps to holding his face in her hands.
“It’s great,” he encouraged, his eyes sparkling in the last light of the sun. “Want to try again?”
It was too late. Abby was already clumsily ascending the stones on her way back to the prom. “No. No, no, I should quit while I’m ahead.” She had made the stone skip, in fact she had made it skip quite far, but it was a complete fluke. She had no good reason to try again, no good reason to turn back. She waved as nonchalantly as her pounding heart would allow, adding an air of finality to her march away from the shore. “That must be a world record,” she blustered.
Brad hurried after her. “I think that record belongs to a bloke I’m afraid. Russell Byars managed fifty-one.”
“Fifty-one! F… blimey.” Abby turned to meet his grinning expression.
“Yeah, he’s American.”
Of course he bloody is! Abby rolled her eyes and clambered back onto the prom, heading towards the café.
Chapter 27
Beautiful sky tonight. It made me think of you!
Abby smiled warmly and slid her phone away before Bradley saw Simon’s name on the screen. She had no intention of inviting his opinion on her personal life again and she didn’t want to find herself leaping to Simon’s defence should he offer it.
As Brad returned to their table he gave Abby a wink. “A prize for the winner!”
“Brad, I’ve just been to the gym, I’m not sure cake will help my cause.”
“Nonsense, you’ve earned it. Besides, teaming it with a Diet Coke must make it OK and… well… you’re looking great.” His cheeks flushed a little.
Unaccustomed to taking a compliment, Abby didn’t respond. Instead she took the large wedge of coffee cake and a knife from the tray. She sliced it in half. “Perhaps it was all in the teaching. We’d better share.” She couldn’t really turn the kind gesture down but there was no way she was about to tackle sticky cake alone while Brad watched.
Having returned the empty tray and collected two forks from the counter Bradley hesitated, momentarily unsure whether to take the seat next to Abby or opposite her – both seemed quite intimate in the small booth the waitress had offered them. Abby slid his coffee to the place diagonal to hers. He took the hint and sat down.
A bit of an awkward silence fell across the table. Brad ate his cake while Abby picked at hers; the sponge was moist, while the cream was thick, sweet and topped with too many chopped walnuts. Abby watched as Brad devoured his half and wished she had sliced it more generously in his favour.
She broke the silence. “I wouldn’t have picked you as a coffee cake man.”
Brad laughed, looking at Abby’s still almost whole piece of cake, realising he had attacked his a bit too keenly. “It was all they had left.” Holding his fork poised in the air, he looked at her thoughtfully. “So what would you have picked me as?”
Abby pondered. “Fruit or carrot maybe – get one of your five a day in while indulging? No, I know gooey chocolate!” She motioned in his general direction. “You obviously only indulge occasionally, so do it in style?”
Brad smiled. Satisfied with her verdict, Abby sat back and took a long swig of Diet Coke.
“Actually it was chocolate I was after, you’re right; it is what I would normally go for. But I think we have something in common. I have a thing for chocolate rolls, childish I know, and when I had one in my lunch the other day Melissa said I should offer some to you.”
Abby choked and slapped
her hand to her mouth to stop fizz spraying everywhere. Oh, now she’s for it! “No. No, no not really,” she spluttered.
Brad went to pat her back while Abby gestured him away, reprimanding herself for not making sure that Melissa deleted all evidence of her win at the lingerie party before anybody actually saw it. Wiping her mouth with a napkin and regaining her composure Abby decided to change the subject.
“Melissa was sorry she couldn’t make it.”
“Yeah, she text earlier. Is her ankle very bad?”
“I think she’s scared it’ll swell. You know, with the wedding only a couple of weeks away now.” Abby didn’t want to say more; she didn’t want to imply that Melissa was being a bit neurotic.
“You’re going to the wedding right?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure Si… I mean the girls should be all sorted so I’ll be there.” Abby still wasn’t sure she would make a great wedding guest but she was excited to see Melissa on her big day and wouldn’t let her down.
Brad smiled. “Good!” Realising his response sounded a little too keen (he really would have to try harder at this strictly friends thing), he added, “So how are Jessica and Grace?”
“All good thanks.” Abby felt a bit weird discussing the girls with Bradley. Did Simon discuss our babies with Helen Herne? The thought slapped into her mind – why hadn’t she asked that? How would she feel if he had? Betrayed!
“It can’t have been easy for them, with everything.”
Abby really didn’t want to go further down this path; she could feel her mind beginning to spiral. She didn’t want to discuss this – she was having a night off, and she could feel panic growing inside her. “Do you suppose the amusements are still open?”
“What? Why?”
“I want to go on the Twister.” Abby had no idea where that came from but it seemed like an escape. She wanted to be flung round to loud music, like she used to at the fair. Her head couldn’t go into meltdown if she couldn’t think.
Bradley beamed. “Let’s finish up here and go see.”
Abby pushed her plate away, still with most of her cake on it. “I’m done.”
“You didn’t like it?”
“To be honest Brad, I don’t like coffee.” She laughed at her confession.
“Oh sorry… but you drink it all the time?”
“No, only recently, it was a phase. I’m over it.”
Brad looked at Abby, bemused, as she stood decisively and headed for the door.
It was a Wednesday evening so the amusements were pretty empty but after a word with the tattooed man slouching round the rides Bradley returned, six tokens in hand. Abby giggled with excitement. It was mad but she was going on the Twister; she hadn’t done that for years. As they took their seats Bradley insisted on going on the outside. Abby remembered that it was the worst seat to take, as once the ride got going all passengers would be flung in that direction. She winced and tried to insist that she should sit there. She really wasn’t sure she was actually lighter than Bradley, whose physique was lean and muscular, and had a vision of herself flying across the seat and crushing him. But despite her protestations, he wouldn’t budge.
As the ride got going Abby loved the feel of the breeze smashing into her cheeks. Her hair whipped at her face and she hoped it wasn’t whipping Brad too. There was no music but the flashing lights above danced wildly in the darkening evening sky. It was a head-rush, a fabulous, distracting head-rush. As they moved ever faster, being thrust to the barriers and pulled back, she clung to the safety rail but it was no good; she had to let herself go. She bashed into Bradley who let out a roaring giggle and held her in place.
“Wait, I’ll move back.” She forced the words out against the buffeting wind.
“No way, you’ll only slide back, I’ll keep you here.” Brad held onto her and she let him; their reddened cheeks close and their chests heaving in unison as they laughed together. She realised her hand had moved to his thigh and felt his muscles flex at the contact. Neither of them moved to prevent it.
The man controlling the ride seemed to be teaching them a lesson for disturbing his otherwise quiet evening and let the ride go on, faster and faster. It was so much more punishing than Abby remembered but she didn’t care, she wasn’t even sure she wanted it to stop. It was a moment; an exhilarating, mind-rushing moment. It felt wonderfully intimate, just the two of them; the darkening sky, the flashing lights, their bodies thrust together, Brad’s deep laugh reverberating through her own chest. If she were a teenager it would have been enough to make her giddy for weeks. As an adult the charged air flashing around them made her want more – so much more – and for a moment her head was free of all other thoughts; it was as simple as the two of them and what could follow.
As the ride slowed their hair was ruffled and they both took heavy breaths. No longer having a reason to keep it there, Abby moved her hand. Missing the contact immediately Brad flicked his eyes at her. She inched back into her seat. It was over. The ride had ended. As she took Brad’s hand and stepped down with wobbly legs, Abby felt slightly saddened to feel her feet land firmly back on the ground.
“Brad, this has been one of the most bizarrely enjoyable evenings of my life. Thank you.”
Brad smiled, taking in her words. She looked so spirited and free. He held her gaze, enamoured by her sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks. He had to stay focused; he couldn’t let his eyes drift to her lips – if he did he knew he’d be unable to resist them. He had promised their relationship would be strictly friends. He couldn’t forget that; he didn’t want to scare her away.
Reluctantly he broke eye contact and winked. “Happy to oblige, any time.”
Chapter 28
No win, no point questions. It seems these are my new speciality:
Did you discuss our babies; did you show her pictures of them?
Yes? How dare you! You had no right to share them with her.
No? Oh, you really didn’t give them a second thought did you?
Did you keep your wedding ring on?
Yes? Oh, I am so pleased my wedding ring has been all over another woman’s body!
No? How very premeditated; I really didn’t matter to you at all did I?
I am good at these. Self-torturing questions with which to entrap my husband – he can’t win, but then again in playing this game I’m not sure I can either.
Abby wondered what Mallory would make of that. She wasn’t proud of herself. It was all rather pointless. It wasn’t moving forward, it wasn’t focusing on the future but sometimes she just couldn’t help it. Of course she wouldn’t actually ask Simon the questions; even she knew there was no point to that. Her rehearsed answers ensured that he would give the wrong response and would be maligned no matter what he said. But she wasn’t going to let the thoughts spiral out of control either. She was putting them in her book to stop them doing precisely that.
Pausing, Abby flicked through her book. She could see how far she’d come. From the person who couldn’t bear living in her own mind, who was obsessed, and at times she feared possessed, to the person she was today; still sometimes overwhelmed, still sometimes low or confused, but in so much more control of it. She could use her book for the purpose for which it was intended. She could record her thoughts and feel the relief of them being out of her head. It had become her friend, her confidant. How strange that a collection of pages and scribbles could become so very important. She clung to her book; it was a part of her now. Her fear, anger, frustration, her struggle and her gradual rediscovering of herself all there, documented.
It was OK that she put her questions there. It was where they should be. She couldn’t keep them in and it was pointless to batter Simon with them. She knew he was sorry. She knew he regretted what had happened, so what did she hope to gain by bringing it up over and over again? He had said he wanted to forget it all, he didn’t want to remember her or the ugliness of himself, his selfish, uncaring behaviour – becoming a person he never wanted to
be – and she believed him; after all his behaviour had been so unlike him.
It was funny; when she told Simon that part of her shock came from it being the last thing she expected – it being so very out of character for him – he had seemed relieved. He didn’t want to be that person. He had watched how his dad had treated his mum; he didn’t want to repeat that. The fact that Abby didn’t see him in that way gave him hope that it wasn’t who he really was.
Abby put her book away in her drawer. Next to it were the giraffe and elephant Simon had made for her; she stroked her hand over them and picked up her cyan gemstone. Sometimes, when she was feeling low, she carried it with her. She wondered when the lion would follow. Her original set had consisted of all three; if Simon were replicating them there would be a lion too. She felt the urge to Google its symbolic meaning, knowing that would give her a clue as to when she could expect it. She looked at her laptop sitting in its case across the room. She knew it was silly but having had the idea she suddenly felt an overwhelming need to know. Convincing herself that she would stick strictly to that search, therefore not breaking her promise to herself to stop wasting her life with needless nights of Googling, she reached for the bag.
Turning on her laptop, Abby waited and then clicked on Safari. Smirking at the irony she went straight to Google and typed in lion imagery. As hundreds of sites listing images of lions appeared before her she tutted. Trying again, she typed in meaning of lions and rolled her eyes as Google instantly offered a literal meaning of the word – bugger! But then, below the obvious large, tawny-coloured cat that lives in prides were the words symbolism and the meaning of lions. Her curiosity was piqued. She clicked the site open and read, her eyes flicking to pertinent parts of the text: Renowned for their courage and faith… ultimate protectors of hearth and home.
Reading it, Abby knew why Simon had left the lion until last. She lacked the courage to accept him back and wasn’t yet ready to place her faith in him or their future together. With all that had happened she was protecting her hearth and home the only way she knew how. Not letting him back, guarding it, guarding herself. She stared at the screen. Is that what it was: self-preservation? Abby sighed. She wasn’t sure she would be getting the lion any time soon.
