by Sara Downing
Fifteen
The day of the long-awaited school production dawns. It’s been a brilliant source of distraction for me; I’ve been so wrapped up in it for the past couple of weeks, I’ve barely had time to think about the love-triangle that is my life, and to step back and look at how things stand at the moment. Everything has remained relatively quiet on the two sides of the triangle that I have any influence over, so far.
Mark and I have entered into a sort of stable, platonic phase, and seem to be getting along OK. We are perfectly pleasant towards one another, but the major factor making everything not really OK is that we are more like housemates than lovers. It’s a bit of a weird set-up really, but neither of us has yet been brave enough to take the leap and suggest that maybe, possibly, things are never going to get better and that, finally, our relationship is over. I’m still wearing my engagement ring – until we know where we are heading I can’t bring myself to take it off. I know there has to be finality at some point, and that we probably will end up separating, but it’s so hard to move things forward to that next step.
My relationship with Tom, if you can call it that, is on an even keel too. He has been fantastically supportive, in a kind, friendly way, both towards my emotional needs, and with all the additional work I have on my plate at school at the moment. At no point has he tried to kiss me again; he has well and truly kept to his word about backing off and giving me time to think. The trouble is, I haven’t really done much thinking as I’ve been so busy. Maybe once this week is over then I really should start to at least consider making some decisions on where my life is heading. I owe it to both the men in my life.
For the meantime, I have a production to stage. We have three performances of Joseph to knock out from Monday to Wednesday this week, so the children (and staff) involved will be doing relatively little else. Still, it’s a great experience for them and I am very excited about it – I think it’s going to be brilliant, if I say so myself. It’s a complete sell-out, tickets have gone like hot cakes, and the children are wound up like coiled springs, desperate to bounce onto the stage.
Tom stands at the front of the hall, waiting to make his welcoming speech to the first heaving hall of parents, friends and fans who have turned out to watch their little darlings make their stage debut. Whilst hovering in the wings and nervously tweaking costumes and headdresses I spot Frannie and Gerald, cuddled up like a pair of lovebirds in the seats I reserved for them at the front, so they would have a good view. And Evie has brought her girls down to watch as well – they are currently fidgeting around near the back, Imogen and Anastasia catching up with some of the friends they left behind when they moved off to their new school. It hadn’t even occurred to Mark to come and support me, and see what all my hard work has been for. Fat chance of that. At no point has he expressed any interest in buying a ticket; he just isn’t bothered at all. Still at least I have my own mini fan-club in attendance in the form of Frannie and Evie, and I am really glad of their support, as my pre-production nerves kick in.
Finally the lights dim and the spotlight hones in on Tom. He looks particularly gorgeous tonight, I think, immaculately turned out in suit and tie, and with his wild hair slightly tamer than normal. But I don’t have time to kick back on my laurels and admire, so I pull myself together quickly. He is a picture of confidence and self-assuredness as he waits there, thoroughly in his element, his staff and charges about to give off a performance which can only further his reputation as the best head teacher Cropley School has ever known. (And undoubtedly the sexiest, too, I can’t help myself from remarking with an inward nervous giggle.)
‘Ladies and Gentlemen, children, parents, staff and friends,’ he begins, slowly and surely, making eye contact at various places all around the room, to ensure he has everyone’s attention. The audience falls silent immediately; such is the spell he is capable of casting over them. Let’s face it, you’d have to be mad or half blind not to sit and gawp. ‘Welcome to our production.’ The smile he bestows after his simple opener out-dazzles the spotlight by about a zillion watts, and I can imagine that a significant proportion of the female population will be glued to their seats, and not just because of his stage presence. I half expect one of those flashes to appear on his teeth, like in the toothpaste adverts, where some hunk with an unnaturally white set of pearlies grins at the camera and ‘Zing’, up pops the flash of Colgate white.
Tom goes on to whip up his audience into an excited frenzy of anticipation, then thanks all the relevant people, but singles out one in particular – me. I gulp. I hadn’t expected to be mentioned at this point. Maybe at the end of the run, after the final production, I’d expect a big thank you and possibly a bunch of flowers presented by one of the kids, the usual sort of thing. But I realise in horror that Tom wants me out the front with him right now, sharing his glory – I’m not prepared for this.
‘……….my wonderfully talented director, Miss Grace Connery,’ I hear him continue through the blur of my nerves. The fingers on the end of the arm he extends towards me are beckoning for me to come forward, and I realise the spotlight is now coming my way, honing in on its target like a searchlight in the Blitz.
Somehow I manage to get myself to the front of the hall, hoping my cheeks don’t match the red of the stage curtains. As I approach him he pulls me to his side, and we stand there together, with his arm protectively around my shoulder. I’m not sure what he actually says, I’m so shocked about being dragged to the front today, when I was least expecting it, and my legs have turned to goo. But I think the gooey legs might be more to do with the effect of his arm around my shoulder, not nerves…
We haven’t had any physical contact since that late afternoon in his office when we kissed for the first time, and I realise how much I have craved his touch. The whole lower half of my body feels like it’s melting. Please can I stay here all evening, the prayers inside my head beseech. Make these people disappear and leave the two of us alone. I could stand here like this all night. Well, I might want him to kiss me too, eventually, but that’s beside the point. And certainly not with all these people watching.
Speech over, I am released from Tom’s clutches and head off back to my director’s hideout, tucked just out of sight behind the curtain at the side of the stage. I manage to quickly resuscitate myself from my state of Tom-induced lust and torpor and everything goes off brilliantly, as I knew it would. The kids display all their superstar qualities to the full, and the rapturous applause at the end makes all the hard work feel worthwhile.
I suddenly realise how shattered I am, now that it’s over and the adrenaline rush has deserted me. Oh well, we only have to do all that twice more, should be a doddle – ha! I foresee a weekend of long lie-ins ahead of me to recover. At least I know what to expect tomorrow evening if Tom whisks me out to the front again, for a repeat of this evening’s speech, which no doubt he will. I’ll have to make sure I’m wearing my Bridget Jones-style reinforced and very unsexy industrial-strength pants, to be able to cope with that twice more in front of a big audience.
‘I…am….knackered,’ I manage to utter on day three of the performance, as we stack the final chairs back in place in the village hall. There are only a few of us left now; just me, Tom and the other two class teachers, plus a couple of parents whose commitment to costumes, make-up and props has been unwavering throughout the whole process. We couldn’t have managed without them, and here they are still, helping us get cleared up. Tonight’s final performance had again gone off without a hitch.
‘Bye, Dawn, thank you so much,’ I call, as one of these work-hard mums finally beats her retreat.
‘It was worth it,’ she smiles, as she pushes the door open. ‘What a night! See you tomorrow. Enjoy the rest of your evening,’ she adds, with a glance towards Tom and a knowing smile back at me. What can she mean? I wonder, but I feel that smile trying to play at my own lips too.
Everyone drifts away until finally it is just Tom and me, left together
to lock up, turn off switches, and generally make sure we have left the hall as we found it. The secretary for the village hall committee is a dragon to rival the one slain by St George, and we don’t want to risk her fiery breath for not leaving everything in a state of absolute immaculateness.
‘So where’s the after-party?’ Tom asks cheekily, knowing it’s safe to pose that question now that everyone has left, and the only potential partygoers are the two of us. ‘Shall we go and get a drink somewhere?’ he tries again, a little more of a realistic proposition this time, standing squarely in front of me with his hands on my arms. Here come those gooey legs again. ‘You’re not expected home yet a while, are you? Mark’s bound to assume we’ll all go off somewhere afterwards, isn’t he?’
All these leading questions – does he really want to know the answer to them?
‘Don’t worry about Mark, he won’t be home till late anyway, and he’s unlikely to care whether I’m home or not,’ I reply, realising how down I sound, and then adding more brusquely, ‘Forget about him, let’s go.’ I amaze myself at how easily I have just shelved Mark in deciding to go off with Tom tonight, despite all my earlier intentions of keeping a distance between us for the moment.
Suddenly he pulls me to him and there are those wonderful lips of his again, seeking out mine. I melt into the shape of his body; he seems to absorb the whole of me, like a sponge, and I can’t tell where the sensations are coming from, every part of me is tingling with excitement. Suddenly a door bangs and we jump apart quickly.
‘I thought everyone had gone,’ he says. ‘Let me just nip outside and check everything’s OK.’ But as he heads for the door, Ginny pops her head round.
‘Sorry to startle you – forgot my coat,’ she says. There’s that look again, sizing us up, eyes going from one to the other and back again, trying to get the measure of us and work out what we are up to. Maybe she had stolen back in here on purpose, in the hope of catching us out.
‘Damn, why did it have to be her again?’ I groan to Tom, ‘Do you think she knows what’s going on?’
‘Well what is going on?’ Tom teases. ‘I am only standing here kissing my gorgeous Grace, the most brilliant director…..and teacher…..and woman…..ever. And as beautiful as any Hollywood superstar, I reckon.’ He grabs me to him again and I find myself not caring what Ginny thinks, anyway.
‘Let’s go,’ he says. ‘We’ll take my car, I’ll run you back here later so you can pick yours up.’
‘So,’ Tom says, as we fasten our seatbelts, ‘where to?’ I make a stab at a couple of pubs in the neighbouring villages, then there is a pause before he says, somewhat gingerly, ‘Or back to mine?’ I glance at him as he’s driving. I am not shocked; I don’t want to go to a public place with him. Not because I don’t want us to be seen together, although that could be awkward at this point in time, but because I want to be alone with him. I want him all to myself and I want him to make love to me. Now. Tonight. I’m not going be the one to suggest it; I am just going to go along with whatever he wants. I can’t pretend any longer that I want to keep him at arm’s length, because I don’t. I’ve tried that, and it hasn’t helped. I think I know finally in my head, and heart, that Mark and I are over, it’s now just a matter of all the practicalities to be sorted out, and how we go about it. Being with Tom before I’ve drawn a final line under my relationship with Mark was never what I intended, but it’s killing me. I want to be Tom’s, emotionally and physically; I can’t wait any longer.
‘Yes,’ is all I can muster.
He steals a quick glance in my direction and reaches his hand out to me. I grab it and hold it tight, tucking our joined hands between my knees. I never want to let go. His hands are large and warm and very soft. I need them on my body tonight. But I am going to let him take the lead; whatever he has in mind for this evening, however far we go, is fine by me. Well, more than fine, actually. I hope to God he isn’t planning just to ply me with a coffee then drop me straight back here. But it’s not coffee vibes that I’m picking up on right now.
During the twenty minute or so drive to Tom’s flat, neither of us says very much. We are both exhausted from the events of the past couple of days, but I don’t think our silence has anything to do with that. For my part, I am savouring the moment, enjoying the anticipation of what is to come. Tom sneaks the odd glance at me, when he can without compromising his driving. He looks like he needs to check I am still there and that he can’t believe his luck that I am.
Tom pulls up outside his flat. Neither of us moves to start with, then he jumps out of the car and is round at my door in a flash, opening it for me and holding my hand as I climb out as if to ensure I don’t suddenly change my mind and make a bolt for home. But the only bolt that hits me is the lightning strike when he kisses me again. It’s only a gentle peck on the cheek, but it’s enough to send me sky high, completely away with the fairies. He puts his arm round my waist and together we go into his home. The whole thing feels as though it takes place in slow motion, like an out of body experience, frame by frame. Only once he has closed the door to his flat does he let me loose. Don’t worry, Tom, you don’t have to lock me in and hold me prisoner here. It’s exactly where I want to be.
He skips off to the kitchen to pour some wine – which will later go un-drunk – and I look around his flat, liking what I see. Fortunately there is no sign of a woman’s touch; it’s all very tasteful and elegant, but there is nothing girly in the slightest, or at least nothing obvious, anyway, and I’m not about to go rifling through drawers looking for clues to ex girlfriends. I can’t imagine the extremes of jealousy I would suffer to see Sophie’s or even Alicia’s mark on his home, although Alicia probably wasn’t around for long enough to have any influence on his interior décor.
Tom returns with a glass in each hand and sets them down on the low table in the centre of his living room. Then he turns slowly back to me, tilts his head to one side and just looks at me, before bringing his hands up to the back of my neck and cupping my head in his palms, his thumbs reaching up into my hair and sending spasms of excitement down my spine. I push my head back into his hands, enjoying the sensation and the touch of his electrically charged fingertips. He pulls me to him and we kiss again. This time it’s a proper kiss, his tongue urgent and searching, as his arms move lower and hold me tight against his body. We seem to fit together so perfectly; there is so much of him, I feel lost in him, as though I melt and disappear and we both become one entity. I never want him to stop kissing me like that. All this passion; I can’t remember ever feeling like this, although I suppose it must have been like that with Mark in the early days. Was it ever this good? I push Mark out of my head; I’m only feeling ever so slightly guilty about being here with Tom – and not enough to make me want to stop – but I don’t want any bad thoughts clogging up the pure intensity of this moment. I want to savour every minute of it. I feel like I should be committing these sensations to memory, bottling them even, so that in my crusty old age I can get them out and relive the moments of passion from my youth. And know that I was loved and had experienced the heights of an emotion as strong as it could ever be.
Tom is leading me through to his bedroom. This time I don’t stop to admire the soft furnishings on the way. He gently lays me down on the bed and starts to remove my clothing. He deftly flicks on his iPod speakers and the strains of James Blunt’s ‘You’re Beautiful’ fill the room. Well, that was good planning, if ever it was planned. No, surely not. Neither of us could have anticipated being here together, tonight, could we?
‘She smiled at me on the subway, she was with another man.’ Well, yes, right on that one.
‘But I won’t lose no sleep on that, ‘cause I’ve got a plan’ Does he have a plan? Really? Had Tom known that I would come back here with him tonight?
At that point I stop taking notice of the lyrics and cross-questioning myself – I have been living with a lawyer for too long, it’s rubbed off on me – as Tom is down to my underwe
ar and playing very close attention to the inside of one of my thighs. He is lying beside me, stripped to his own underwear – when did that happen? Nice pants though, not those nasty little tight ones, I notice – and his fingers are stroking the soft skin of my thigh; I usually find this unbearably tickly but tonight there are no giggles bubbling up. This is so erotic and as his hands move up across my stomach, closely followed by his lips, and up to my breasts, his thumbs tweaking my nipples, I shiver and wonder how I can wait any longer to feel him inside me. I don’t want to rush things, but I need him on top of me, crushing me with his weight, and bearing down on me with his kisses whilst I wrap my legs around him and pull him deep into me.
Sensing my urgency, Tom quickly divests both of us of any remaining garments and is inside me, filling me with his passion and we move together gently on the bed. His eyes are open and looking into mine, full of love and adoration and deep, deep lust, and we are so desperate to melt into each other that it’s all over in a matter of seconds. We lay sated side by side, each gently caressing the other’s skin, exhausted and panting.
‘Wow,’ Tom says when he finally gets his breath back. ‘You are amazing.’
I feel the urge to giggle, something to do with all the love hormones kicking in, and the great speed of events, no doubt.
