Head Over Heels

by Sara Downing

  ‘We’ll take our time next time,’ I reply, half-apologetic. ‘I just needed you.’

  ‘Glad to hear there will be a next time, and a time after that and a time after that, too, I hope,’ he says, teasing me, and tenderly tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. ‘I needed you too. I’ve needed you forever, Grace.’

  And there is a next time, pretty soon after – we don’t have to wait very long. This time it is slow, and lovely, and languorous, and we take the time to explore each other’s bodies properly, discovering sensitive spots, and ticklish bits, and we laugh and talk and roll and move together, before finally needing to seal the moment. This time I let him take the lead, and he is so, so gentle and slow, bringing me to the most amazing climax before giving into his own passion.

  I wake with a start some time later to see Tom’s bedside clock flashing a bright blue 02.17 at me. Oh God, how did I manage to fall asleep, I am supposed to be going back to collect my car and get home, for at least a few hours sleep in my own bed and a pretence at having just stayed out a bit too late at the supposed ‘after-party’. Tom is flat-out beside me, he looks so beautiful and peaceful, his arms flung wide in total abandon, it seems a shame to have to wake him. How I would love to lie here with him all night, snuggle up to that huge, smooth chest, wake up together in the morning, make love again…….. Yes, well, time to knock those thoughts on the head for now, my practical and sensible side is taking over and I know I have to get home, so I give him a gentle nudge.

  ‘Tom, wake up, its twenty past two, I have to get back.’ He mutters and grunts in his sleep, then rolls over and carries on doing what he is doing. Good job I stirred or we would both still be here in the morning, and my all-night absence would certainly take some explaining. It wouldn’t be the done thing to turn up at school later this morning in the clothes I had been wearing at the show. Oh no. I give him a harder shove this time; I have to get back. He wakes with a start and leaps out of bed, stares at me with a bemused expression, then as his mind wakes up, he seems to suddenly remember where we are and what happened and tries to pull me back under the duvet with him. Oh, such temptation, and so hard to resist, he’s warm and smells so good, but I have to.

  We both dress quickly; there’s no time for me even to grab a quick shower, I will just have to make sure I am up before Mark in the morning. That could be tricky on so little sleep. We don’t speak until we are in the car and then Tom says, ‘I’m sorry, Grace.’

  ‘What for, it was perfect,’ I reply. ‘I just wish I didn’t have to leave…..’

  ‘I’ve said before, I’m not a home-wrecker,’ he says. ‘But I want you Grace. I want all of you. Not for it to be like this.’ He reaches out and holds my hand, and looks so sad, despite everything that has happened tonight and the gloriously ecstatic emotions of earlier.

  ‘I know,’ I say, then taking a deep breath: ‘I know what I need to do, Tom,’ I am sure I sound braver than I feel. I know I have to end things with Mark, and soon. It’s not fair to either of them not to know where they stand, although I have to keep any evidence of my involvement with Tom out of the picture until I have sorted out the end my relationship with Mark. He doesn’t deserve, after all the mostly happy years we have spent together, for me to leave him to go directly into the arms of another man.

  I have to be leaving him because that in itself is the right thing to do and because our relationship has run its course, not because I have had what I consider to be a better offer. I don’t do and have never done affairs; one man at a time is enough and I need to play fair now too. OK so I have cheated on Mark already, but he doesn’t need to know that. He deserves a reasoned explanation for the end of ‘us’. I owe it to him to do that. I am pretty sure he is expecting it; so much so that I’m surprised he hasn’t been the first one to make the move towards the beginning of the end.

  I slip quietly into the house and between the sheets of our bed, feeling slightly treacherous, but still glowing from my love-making with Tom. There, that’s it, I am a true adulteress; that horrible word now applies to me. A bed-hopper, fresh out of one man’s bed and into another, with the smell of the first one still on me. But that’s what I am.

  I won’t have that tag for long, though. My very onerous task for this weekend is to end my relationship with Mark. I’m not chickening out of doing it tomorrow, or rather today, as of course it’s already the next day. But I know Mark has a really important couple of days coming up at work and a big deal to finalise, and I don’t want to cause him problems by throwing his home life upside down as well. No, let things tick over as they have been, and we will talk at the weekend. I don’t plan to spend this weekend as Mark’s partner; by Saturday morning we will have this all sorted out and we can both be on the path to the rest of our lives.

  I can’t help going over the events of the evening in my head. I am doomed on the sleep front, I know that. Those couple of hours I snatched in Tom’s bed, plus the passionate parting kiss he gave me as we went our separate ways just now, have ruined sleep for me for the remainder of the night. I know I am going to be shattered tomorrow, but then everyone will be expecting me to be sporting bags the size of suitcases under my eyes, from all the hard work of the past three days. The children will be tired, too, so hopefully I will slip under the radar relatively unnoticed.

  Tom had dropped me back at my car, then followed me home to make sure I got back safely. I could see his face in the moonlight as I turned the key in the lock, and the little kiss he blew me. His expression was very melancholy – no doubt wondering what the outcome was to be from this situation. Had we just been a ‘one-off’, a gorgeous but never-to-be-repeated event, or was I about to embark on a steamy affair with him, safe in the knowledge that I still had Mark at home as fall-back, should I decide I didn’t want him after all? Was I just covering my options? He had no way of knowing whether I really would end things with Mark and be with him instead. Poor man, caught up in all this complicated relationship stuff. All he wants is me, and I have so much baggage to empty out and tidy away first.

  But I will deal with it; I am resolved to do what I have to. I want to be with Tom. I don’t love Mark any more. There, I said it. I look at the man lying next to me and feel such sadness. Mark and I have been together for so long and been through so much together. What happens to all that history, all those shared moments and memories when a couple part? The stories that couples recount together, and that are so much fun to recall à deux, but mean practically nothing to a third party – tales of funny moments, special holidays, that sort of stuff. They are unlikely ever to get an airing again – a memory is pretty hollow unless it can be shared with the person who experienced it too. It’s like losing the best part of a decade from my life, boxed up and put into storage the instant I tell Mark I am leaving him. But a relationship cannot survive on the memories of happier times; if we are not constantly creating more happy memories for the future each day we are together, then what is the point of us being together now? I feel no love for him as I lie there. Instead I feel sad, and a bit sorry for him. I know he will be fine, though. He must know things are over between us, so hopefully it won’t come as too much of a shock. Will it?

  Sixteen

  I’m going to need some matchsticks this morning to keep my eyelids open, I reckon, as I shuffle to the bathroom, barely upright, like Neanderthal woman after a particularly rough day of being dragged round by her hair. Oh God, look at those ugly bags under my eyes, enough compartments to pack for a family holiday for a week. My skin looks grey and sallow, and I ache all over. Although not in a bad way, I realise. The insides of my thighs tingle, and my chin feels a bit rough and scratchy from Tom’s stubble. Mmmmm. The physical reminders get me thinking about what happened and put a smile on my face which does something to shore up the bags a little. We did kiss a lot, and it was gorgeous. We hardly stopped, really. No wonder my chin feels like it’s been given a close shave with a blunt lawnmower.

  But there is the hint
of a twinkle in my eye, despite the greyness of my complexion, which I hope will carry me through the day ahead, until I can come back home and sleep. Sleep is all I want to do tonight; the thought of crawling between my crisp white sheets, (alone – no man there to complicate things) with a good book, and reading a couple of pages before nodding off into the deepest of sleeps. Bliss. My memories of last night and the total high I am feeling from being so loved and wanted and lusted after, will keep me going until I can come home and collapse. I hope.

  Mark was up and out of the house before I even stirred. Just as well, really. I’d planned to get up and have a shower before him, but it hadn’t happened. There was no way I was responding to an alarm clock that went off at anything beginning with a six this morning. I had only just managed to drag myself out of bed at seven thirty and that was cutting it as fine as I possibly could for getting to school on time. I hadn’t wanted to still feel Tom’s handprints all over me, and the smell of his body, in Mark’s company (despite the fact that I had just spent the night sleeping next to Mark and doing just that). I’d wanted to get up and shower away all that invisible evidence, just to assuage, not my guilt, as I didn’t have any, I’d reconciled myself to that, but my awareness of a sense that I could still do the right thing by Mark. All part of that adulteress versus one-man-at-a-time battle going on in my head, I suppose.

  Anyway, that was by the by, and no longer relevant, as Mark had already gone off to work. But amazingly, and quite touchingly I thought, he had left me a little note:

  ‘Hi, you! Didn’t hear you come in last night.’ Thank God for that, no need to explain my extreme lateness. ‘Hope show went off well, you deserve the accolades after all your hard work! Will be back late tonight but will text later, Love Mark xxx PS Hope the after-party was fun! x’

  Oh God, there is a real physical pain in my stomach and a sinking feeling which this time I do recognise as guilt. I thought I was past feeling guilty, that Mark and I were over love and all that, and that my clean break plan for the weekend was going to be easy to administer. But then Mark goes and shows me that he can be a kind and caring person, and that he is still thinking about me after all. I wobble for a bit, feeling bad about Mark’s comments – if only he knew what I had really been up to. There I was in another man’s bed, in another man’s arms, letting him make love to me like the past eight years had never happened, whilst Mark thought I was innocently grabbing a few celebratory drinks with the production team in the local pub. I am wobbling, but at no point does it make me consider that what happened with Tom was wrong, or that I want it to end. No, the strange feelings in the pit of my stomach mean that I am not cut out to cheat, and I know that Mark and I are definitely over, despite his kind gesture this morning – so I have to be strong and do what I intend to do and end our relationship. Maybe if he can be as nice as he was in his note, if we can be civil with each other and behave like adults, it won’t be so hard, and he will understand that us separating is for the best….

  ‘Hi, gorgeous,’ Tom mimes to me as I pass him in the corridor. ‘Morning, Miss Connery,’ is his formal, audible greeting, as we are engulfed by a speedy swarm of children, all heading for their classrooms. He gives me the most delicious, cheesy grin, and his eyes twinkle mischievously.

  ‘Morning, Mr Parry,’ I reply breezily, my smile wide, making strong, engaging eye contact with him and wishing I could touch him. I will have to find a moment at some point in this school day to grab him and hold him tight and have him kiss me again, or I will go mad. I don’t feel like a responsible member of staff today, but a love-struck teenager trying to keep the boy she snogged behind the bike sheds under wraps. Oh, today is going to be so hard! But the warm fuzzy glow in the pit of my stomach makes the thrill of it worth every moment of pain.

  My class look like they have been drugged. If I thought the bags under my eyes were bad, then my classroom is like the luggage department in John Lewis. And they are supposed to be young, energetic kids with tonnes of energy. Oh well, we will all muddle along somehow, today, I’m sure. I don’t expect anything too remarkable from them and hopefully the feeling is mutual. My classroom assistant, Mrs Woods, is the only one looking even slightly perky, but then she probably isn’t the sort to have spent the night in another man’s bed, having illicit, passionate sex for hours on end. But then who knows, eh? I’d never have put myself down as being the type either, so you never can tell. But that’s too much information for my sleep-deprived queasy stomach to process; her rather rotund frame and sensible twin-set don’t exactly lend themselves to fantasies of nights of passion. Let’s not even go there. I shake myself down with a ‘Brrrrrrr’ and face my class. PE. That’s what we all need today. Forget the scheduled classes, what we all need is some fresh air and exercise, me included.

  At break time I head towards the staff room to grab a much needed coffee. As I pass Tom’s office, there is a loud ‘Pssssst’, and I see his hand round the door, beckoning me to come in. He must have been waiting there for me to go past, peeping through the gap between the door and the frame, so no other member of staff could hijack him and mar the moment. Like an opportunistic thief checking they are not being watched before striking, I throw a furtive glance over one shoulder to check for stray adults, and dive in. No sooner am I inside the door, than he slams it shut and turns the key, and the two of us are up against it, our tongues in each other’s mouths, our hands desperately searching for flesh under clothing. Before I can protest – and why would I do that other than the danger of being found out, but I notice Tom’s blinds are conveniently down, good planning Mr Parry – he has my skirt up around my waist and we are moving together, desperate not to make a sound, but urgently needing to be together. The door to his office is one of those cheap, hollow plywood things, and I realise that each movement we make together is echoing through the wood and with a stifled giggle, I gently manoeuvre his hips to one side, so that we are against the solid wall instead, without losing our intimate bodily contact.

  When it’s all over, I collapse against Tom in a heap. ‘I can’t believe we just had sex in a school,’ I gasp, ‘It’s so naughty! Do you think we’ll get expelled if the headmaster finds out?’ This I say amid a fit of the giggles, my hand over my mouth for volume control. I can’t quite believe what we have just done. I start sorting out my clothing, straightening everything down, and combing my fingers through my hair.

  ‘I couldn’t wait Grace, sorry,’ he says.

  ‘Stop apologising, will you,’ I reply. ‘Do I look like I am here under duress? You’ll have to stop dragging me off to the headmaster’s study, though, Sir. Your ideas of corporal punishment just aren’t in line with twenty-first century Ofsted requirements, you know.’ I am giggling again, wagging my finger at him in mock chastisement.

  Somehow we both manage to calm ourselves down. In all seriousness, we can’t do that again, I resolve, despite all the hilarity, and I tell Tom. Just imagine if we were seen or overhead, there would be an absolute outcry amongst staff and parents. I can imagine the lurid headlines in the local papers and beyond – ‘Respected head teacher dismissed for break-time antics’ – the consequences don’t bear thinking about. No, we are both professional people; it was fun, and so, so erotic, but that is it. No more school hanky-panky. Still, I can see the funny side of it for the moment; we would definitely win any ‘Most-dangerous-place-you-have-ever-had-sex’ competition. Mile High Club members eat your hearts out.

  The following day we have a whole-school trip planned. After the hard work of the week, and with the end of term fast approaching, we thought it would be perfect timing for the annual school outing. And yes, the kids will have a blast and heaps more fun than on a normal day in school; they need the emotional outlet. But I can imagine that the staff stress-levels will be just a little higher, as we try to reign in eighty-five energetic kids, outside, around a wildlife park, with children wanting to go in all directions, and the hazards of ice-cream-hungry wasps and hay fever outbreaks to ad
d to it.

  We have co-opted a few parents to come along and help supervise small groups, and Ginny, in her usual efficient manner, has planned everything to the n’th degree, so hopefully it won’t be too bad. The real down side for me will be trying to keep my distance from Tom. I wish I could stroll round the park, hand in hand with him, but instead I will have to be ultra-conscious of my behaviour towards him – try not to make too much eye contact, maintain a professional distance, no secret smiles, nothing to give away our secret. It’s going to be impossible!

  I can’t even sit next to Tom on the coach now; before the events of the past few weeks I wouldn’t have given any more thought to parking myself next to him as to any other member of staff. He is a couple of rows in front of me; I can see his blond curls bobbing as he chats to Louise, the class two teacher. They are deep in conversation and I can’t help myself from feeling just a little bit jealous of her. She’ll have him all to herself for the next forty-five minutes, lucky thing, although I’m sure she’s not sitting there contemplating what a lucky woman she is, like I would be. In any case they are hardly each other’s type – she is mid-fifties, well maintained but exceedingly plain – and I suspect Tom won’t be using any of his wayward charms on her today. At least I know he is safe in her clutches, and I have no real reason to feel jealous. Even though I am. Had either of us been unfortunate enough to have Ginny as our travelling companion, we would have felt slightly more uncomfortable, I’m sure, knowing that she is probably – for the moment – the only member of staff to suspect that there may be a relationship evolving between Tom and me. She’d have been watching us both like a hawk.

  We arrive at the Wildlife Park and are duly split into our groups. I am lucky enough to find myself assigned to the year five girls, so they shouldn’t be too much trouble, and the plus side is that they are unlikely to want to see the bats and invertebrates, which give me the heebie-jeebies. So a pleasantly easy morning, strolling round the more aesthetically pleasing fluffy little animals, and hopefully grabbing a half-decent coffee later whilst they let off some steam in the playground.