‘You, frightened? Of me?’ she said, and laughed. ‘We’ve both been idiots.’
David lifted her and kissed her. Then he kissed her again, and again, till his kisses became one long kiss and he laid her down on the bed. Soon they were naked and entwined and Emma now found to her great pleasure she had underestimated just how much he’d missed her.
A short time later, husband and wife stood in the shower in a wet embrace, for initially what David’s body had had to say was concentrated and to the point.
At first she had stood and watched him lather his body, quite happy to wait her turn, but the longer she watched him, the more she needed him. Now they clung together, unmoving, under the strong hot stream from the oversized showerhead.
After five wonderful minutes, Emma was the first to stir. It had suddenly occurred to her that if they stayed in their room too long, Sally and Mark might talk. She knew what was on Mark’s mind, he’d been quite clear about that! She worried that, provoked by Emma and David’s overlong absence, he might broach the subject of a foursome with Sally. Or worse, she suddenly thought, wife swapping. She certainly had no plans to involve herself sexually with that man. She smiled as she ran her hands across David’s broad chest. Why the hell would she?
Emma began to wash David. She ran the cake of soap across his chest while he looked on, with a gorgeous smile on his face. He never seemed larger to her than when they stood toe to toe, as now. He loomed over her and her hands, when washing him down, seemed so small and delicate up against his oversized body.
She loved his body. His muscles were from sport and good genes rather than from mindless and, inherently vainglorious, work in the gym. He had a swimmer’s body, though he was bulkier in the thigh from his rugby and tennis.
Emma was washing his stomach when she noticed that David was not quite done with her. She ran a soapy hand through his pubic hair and grabbed hold of his solid, erect penis.
‘What’s this then?’ she asked.
‘A present,’ he said.
‘You did miss me.’
‘I told you so,’ he said.
David was, of course, completely ignorant of Emma’s concerns about Mark downstairs. He turned his wife around, then pressed her against the tiled wall and fucked her hard and fast, gripping her hips and pummelling her like a devil.
Judging by his wife’s moans David was not long in finding a rhythm that suited them both. Slow deep strokes were to be preferred with the occasional thrust upwards to drag from Emma the much loved Fuck! which grew louder and louder, till she screamed the word out regardless of the consequences.
TEN
An hour passed by in the blink of an eye. They had been loud! Very, very loud! They lay on opposite sides of the bed. David was heaving deep breaths. His skin was wet and hot to touch, he was burning up, his muscles had been fried by the sweet demands of his girl. Emma lay, head thrown back over the opposite end of the bed, eyes closed, body still tense, legs clenched, the final wave of pleasure still with her. With release came a deep sigh. Emma relaxed so thoroughly she almost toppled off the bed. She was a slinky now, a breeze, a breath. Everything was still and silent.
She was not dead, for surely death never felt so good, but she was immobilised. She certainly had the look of the dead. She lay as she fell, sprawled out in the puddle of their lovemaking. She was momentarily complete.
Usually, in the aftermath, Emma would crave David’s touch, but today she truly needed nothing. All her thoughts were informed by one desire and that desire concerned three individuals. She had mingled the previous night, morning and afternoon with her delirious, very recent past. Sally and David were caught up in a whirlwind of desire that cut a swathe through her mind. All too soon she was incomplete again.
She opened her eyes. The sound of the surf, absent till now, filled the room. She expected the room to have been darker than it was. David had got up and was in the shower, she soon realised. She saw the small, barely perceptible vapours of steam carrying the brighter light of the en suite with them through the open door. They stopped as soon as she heard David turn off the shower.
David stepped back into the room. He was naked.
‘Oooh my, what a sight! Come here, you great hunk,’ she said, being funny.
‘Back, woman! We have to get downstairs. What will they think of us?’
‘Listen to yourself! You stand there like Hercules and prattle on like a tea lady.’
He laughed. ‘We were very noisy. Do you know if these walls are soundproof?’
‘We’ll soon find out. They’ll be sure to make a joke of it. I suppose we should go down.’
‘So you’ve had fun?’ asked David, having stepped into his boxer shorts. He pulled on his beige pants and shook a dark blue shirt before putting that on too.
‘I’ve had a ball. Sally and I have done absolutely nothing. That’s not true, I wrote you a story one day. But most of the time I read while Sally lay in the sun. In fact, we’ve become nudists. You’d have loved being a fly on the wall.’
‘Nudists. Great. My week was lousy without you, babe,’ he said, sitting on the edge of the bed.
‘Poor baby, that settles it then. Buy this house and the three of us will live up here.’
‘You, me and Sally?’ he asked, and stretched out on the bed.
‘Absolutely. You’ll be a god to us.’
‘This is sounding obscene. Will it be obscene?’ he asked, hopefully.
‘Yes.’
‘How obscene?’ He had completely forgotten the need to be downstairs.
‘Thy will be done, oh lord.’
‘I like this plan,’ he said, and closed his eyes. ‘You’re wicked,’ he mumbled, and within moments was asleep.
Emma picked up the sheet from the floor and wrapped that around her. She opened her door slowly and peered into the hallway. She could hear muffled noises but they were indeterminate and mixed with the sounds of the surf. The hallway looked dark and safe so she stepped out and crossed the carpeted floor to Sally’s bedroom door and listened. Nothing. She wondered whether Sally and Mark were downstairs waiting. She and David had been an awfully long time.
She opened the door carefully and quietly, just a fraction, hoped to find Sally alone but was immediately greeted with the sight of Sally on her knees on the bed, facing away, being fucked from behind by Mark.
Emma wanted to keep the door open but slowly closed it. She stood in the hallway, all jittery and unsure. They were being incredibly quiet about it, thought Emma, who opened the door slightly and peered in again. She just couldn’t resist spying. The door was open just a sliver, but that was enough. She could see Sally with her arms outstretched before her, head down, butt raised and knees spread. She could see Mark’s tight butt clenched and pumping away at a frenetic pace. He had an extraordinarily fine arse she noticed. He was as tanned as his wife and very sculpted. Every muscle on his back and arms was clearly defined. His forearms were spectacular and she admired the way his hands gripped Sally’s hips. The whole scene was gorgeous, candle lit, but the soundtrack was off. They were silent.
With a shudder of embarrassed recognition she understood. She and David had been so loud. These two must have heard them and now knowing how thin the walls were, they were not prepared to fall into the same trap! Emma almost spoke, she almost said to them, scream, be loud, we don’t care. She hated to think a couple was subduing their natural expression for the sake of propriety. They already knew David and Emma were not fit to judge.
If Mark wasn’t such a prick, if he was someone she could trust to keep quiet, she’d have jumped in and demanded satisfaction. But he wasn’t. Vain men lose out more often than they know. He had everything going for him except his personality. How easy would it have been for her to pass through the door and join them. David was dead to the world, she was wrapped only in a sheet, Sally and Emma had their understanding, she knew Mark wanted it. All was go. Except Mark was a dickhead.
She’d love to tell him at so
me later date, ‘Mark, you missed out because, well, you’re an arrogant prick.’ She wouldn’t tell him she thought him handsome, or that, as his butt pumped away at his wife, she had felt dizzy with delight. She wouldn’t tell him that.
Emma closed the door and shuffled back into her bedroom. She dressed quickly and ran downstairs.
‘Jesus,’ said Emma, on seeing it was nine-thirty on the oven clock. Where had the night gone? She decided then and there that a barbecue was out of the question. Who knew when Sally and Mark would come down? To distract herself she began putting together a small buffet of leftovers, cold meats and bread. When she was done, she poured herself a glass of wine. She leant against the kitchen bench and swallowed the wine in one gulp.
An hour later, having fed herself and downed two and a half glasses of wine, Emma was seated on the balcony in the dark, wrapped neatly in one of the throws from the couch. The bottle of wine was on the table beside her. She was snug but for her drinking arm, which was chilled to the bone. She was suspended till further notice. No thoughts could disturb her mind and the periodical movement of her arm to raise the glass to her lips was like the beating of her heart, an involuntary act.
Mark startled her when he spoke from the doorway.
‘You can’t blame us, can you?’ he asked, stepping onto the balcony. She took a while to take in the meaning of his words. He made her skin crawl. His familiarity was obnoxious. This was exactly what she had hoped to avoid.
‘What?’ she asked, in a vacant tone, to keep him at a distance. He sat in the chair across from her. She averted her eyes. The great black nothingness that had kept her company for the last hour seemed to retreat. He lifted the bottle and poured more wine into her glass. She had not wanted him to and she didn’t acknowledge the act. She felt he was like a salesman, trying to force his foot in the door. She wasn’t having any. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him sitting with a beer. He was in a pair of blue jeans, had no shoes on and wore a jumper. She wouldn’t look at his face. She knew what sort of look he would have. He oozed self-satisfaction.
‘After having to listen to you guys going for it, well, I couldn’t keep my hands off Sally. Best fuck ever.’
He was just too grotesque for words. He threw his legs up on the table and Emma caught the scent of a cigarette. She wouldn’t look at him.
‘It didn’t seem that great from the door,’ she said, in a monotone. She actually was as bored as she sounded. Malice was the lazy option, she knew, but she was tired and he irritated her like a buzzing mosquito.
‘You were watching?’
‘For a moment. Have you put on weight?’
‘What?’ he asked, incredulous.
‘Ever thought about waxing?’ she added. ‘It ain’t a pretty sight.’
‘Fair go!’ said Mark, laughing off her words effortlessly. ‘Where’s David? You too haven’t had a tiff, have you?’
‘He’s asleep.’
‘Wear him out?’
‘Just be thankful I didn’t tell him how you behaved,’ she said. ‘To be honest I forgot to. But that’s how I am with you, I forget everything you do or say.’
‘I’m sensing hostility here, Emma. Now, honey, let’s be friends.’
‘If I am civil to you, remember it is because you are the husband of my best friend and that is all. Ordinarily I have nothing to do with men like you.’
‘Like me? I’m a type?’
‘Very much so. Here comes Sally, so shut up, and remember I don’t like you. Be good to her or I will harm you in any way I can.’
ELEVEN
Emma moved quietly through the beach house in the dark. The house was silent. She went from room to room and her naked feet padded soundlessly on the polished floorboards. As she passed the kitchen she noticed the oven clock; it said it was half past four. She was looking for David. She had woken in bed having missed her husband’s large, reassuring form. His side of the bed was empty and cold with the covers thrown back.
She darted through the beach house, her expectations rising at every new turn. She approached the downstairs bathroom and smiled to herself – why didn’t I think of it? She was sure he was in there, but when she knocked softly and received no reply she suddenly panicked.
In the kitchen she called his name softly, reluctant to disturb Sally and Mark who were asleep upstairs. Again there was no reply. She stood in the kitchen worrying. He had never done this before. He was always so loud and he shook the bed so roughly when he went to the toilet in the middle of the night. This was different.
Emma rushed to the window overlooking the street. She wanted to know if his car was still parked outside. It was. She had had the idea he had gone. Gone, gone. Never before had she thought that David might just up and leave her. But there it was. David might just leave her. For good. For reasons he might never be able to explain. God, I’m so self-obsessed, she thought. She felt relieved, but still had no idea where he was. Walking to the beach side of the house she could see the balcony. It was empty. Beyond, in the darkness, was the beach. She opened the glass sliding door slowly, making sure it didn’t squeak.
‘Emma,’ said David, from the darkness.
Emma jumped back, startled. ‘What are you doing out here?’
‘Couldn’t sleep,’ he said. He had been sitting on the railing with his back against the wall of the house, just out of view. He was wearing his dressing gown over his naked body. She immediately noticed that he was holding a lit cigarette.
‘But you’ve quit!’
‘Couldn’t do it, Em,’ he said, leading her across the balcony to the far railing, away from Sally and Mark’s bedroom window, which was just above them. ‘Not now. It’s all too much at work.’
She stood motionless on the balcony, still shaken by the shocking thought that he’d end their marriage. He was still here, but he wasn’t himself. She had been so dishonest. Had he discovered something? Did he suspect Paul? Would he forgive her as she would forgive him?
‘Have a smoke with me, Em,’ he said, handing her a cigarette. She took it without considering what she was doing. She was in a bit of a daze.
Please tell me quickly, she was thinking, let me know now.
David waited for Emma to lift the cigarette to her mouth. He held the lit lighter in his cupped hands but she was miles away.
‘Em? Are you awake?’ he asked, with a smile.
‘Sure,’ she said. She didn’t move, so he lifted her hand to her mouth and she smiled, laughing softly, and said, ‘Sorry. No. I don’t want it.’
David moved back to the railing. He looked out into the night. The dark ocean and the magnificent night sky.
‘This isn’t like you,’ she said.
‘What isn’t?’ he asked, turning back to her.
‘Not sleeping, silly.’ She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him.
‘Maybe I had too much coffee,’ he said. He drew heavily on the cigarette and exhaled dramatically.
‘Tell me what’s worrying you, baby.’
David walked up and down the balcony in the dark, smoking, answering some of Emma’s whispered entreaties and telling her something of his troubles at work but he was no less restless.
Emma was shivering. Behind her, away to the east, the dark night sky was being diluted, drop by drop, by pale, corrosive daylight. Time would not stand still for him. The night would end and he would have to face Emma in the clear light of day.
He had to tell her what he had only just whispered to himself. He stopped pacing and stood in front of her. He took her cold hands in his. Emma’s heart skipped a beat. He couldn’t speak. He looked into her eyes.
‘I want children,’ he said.
Emma almost laughed. Her worst fears were unfounded. In her relief she failed to realise the importance of his words.
David viewed the situation differently. He wanted children. There were forces at work within him. The years had begun to pass by terrifyingly quickly and the issue of children of his own morphed fr
om being a vague presumption into an urgent need. He had waited patiently for some sign from Emma. But none had come. He was now afraid that all he had built and all he had managed to achieve and Emma’s love were all being risked by this roll of the die.
Emma gathered herself after a moment.
‘So do I,’ she answered.
‘Now?’ he asked. ‘I need to know.’
‘Why do you need to know? What’s got into you?’
‘Something Dad said.’
Emma was at a loss. She didn’t want children now. No. Not now or soon. Maybe not ever. And suddenly she felt the seriousness of the situation.
‘You know he was twenty-four and Mum was twenty-two when they had me,’ continued David. ‘He said the other day that you’re never ready. But I disagree. I reckon I’m ready now. Look at what we’ve got. We can cope. We are in a better position to have children than most people ever are.’
All through the night David’s thoughts had come back to one piece of knowledge. Emma was unlike any woman he had ever known. He had married her on the strength of that. And since the wedding he had had this view reinforced time and time again. No one had loved him like Emma had, no one had demonstrated their love like Emma had, but then conversely no one was as selfish as Emma. She was bigger than life, better than life and not of this life. Sometimes she seemed so far from him. He became a simple being and his needs became quaint beside hers. Career, wife, home, children. And yet, hadn’t he married her?
‘I’m ready, Emma. I really am,’ he repeated. He still held her hands, still looked at her intently, but his words had no effect. She remained silent. She was looking into his eyes. ‘I never would have dreamed that I would be the one saying all this. I never thought I’d be looking into my wife’s eyes …’
Tears sprang from those eyes.
What could she tell him?
‘I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to think. I want to be near you. That’s all,’ he said. Emma melted under the warmth of his words. He kissed her and led her back to bed.
The Secret Lives of Emma: Distractions Page 5
