Oh yes I do.
The walk to the taxi rank at the back of the hospital seems to take ages. The main corridor is so long and my heart is lurching in my chest. I pass people with drips, people on stretchers, people in wheelchairs. Worried faces, lives frozen pending medical intervention.
With Paula beside me, I feel like a fraud. I am too excited and confused to feel particularly ill or injured, I am on a high. This is it. I am really doing this. Oh my God!
My mind is racing. I am about to meet Joel and we are going to stay at a hotel. A HOTEL. Then tomorrow I will meet the band and stay in their hotel for two more nights! My body shivers with anticipation. The adrenaline goes some way to numbing the pain I am feeling from the battering I took today.
I feel a sudden pang of guilt about Richard. Defiantly, I step out of the double doors, the fresh air hits me and my hair is swept up in the breeze.
And there is the black taxi, waiting, as he said it would be. Oh how I wish I had my straighteners and rock chick clothes. Oh dear God...
The taxi has tinted windows so I can't see if Joel is in there or not. Paula hands my bag to the taxi driver, who sets it in the boot and walks round to let me in the back. He opens the door and takes my arm to support my weight as I clumsily fold myself inside. I can't look. I can't look... A surge of electricity tells me that Joel is sat just two feet from me across this very seat but I don't feel able to look at him while people are watching.
I throw a quick wave to Paula, who waves back and then goes back to her work. The driver checks that I'm belted in then closes the door.
We are alone.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Beth
Joel and I sit in silence. My eyes are drawn to look at him, I can't resist. I peek over to the left, working my way from the floor upwards. Boots. Legs clad in jeans. Hands on his thighs. Leather jacket.
Oh! His face is - perfection. But I am shocked to see he has shaved off his stubble. He looks younger. I suppose it might make him a little less recognisable.
Our eyes meet and I am suddenly smiling a goofy smile. He smiles too. I look down at my hands. Then back at him.
I turn towards the side window. As I do so, I see the driver ahead of me, now seated and playing with his radio. I can't hear what music is on, there is a darkened partition. A sign on it says it is one-way glass for the privacy of its occupants.
Joel breaks the silence. "Are you in pain?"
"A little, I have some painkillers, I just took two so..."
"Are you warm enough?"
"A little cold actually."
"Here, take my jacket," he unclips his seat belt and takes off his jacket. I get a waft of leather and a hint of aftershave. Mmmm. He places the jacket over my legs and belts back up. He is wearing a tight navy t-shirt, different to the one he wore earlier. It looks like a Dirty Velvet print. I have one similar.
I can see the outline of his chest muscles underneath. I want to touch him. Looking past him, the sun is setting and casting a red glow on his face and arms.
Breathe.
"So tell me what happened." He says. "Your accident?"
"Oh, I was having a bad morning," I say, embarrassed. "I didn't see the lorry until it was too late and it just stopped in front of me, I -"
"You had a really tough day."
"Yeah," I giggle nervously and look down at my cast. "I wonder what happened to my car?"
"It was pretty beat up; I guess the police towed it."
We ride in silence for a while.
Curiosity overtakes me. I have to ask him, especially bearing in mind the cause of my accident.
"Can I ask, for my sanity's sake, please? Was it all real?" I search his face for an answer. "The walk by the river in my nightie, the letter in Las Vegas and meeting in New York - I mean you do remember, don't you? It's not just been me going mad?"
He pauses, thinking. "Yes. But I don't understand it," he adds quickly, "Not at all. But yes, I have those same memories that you have. So it seems that it's either real or we're both crazy..." He laughs nervously.
"Do you... feel anything for me?" I turn to face him. "I mean, I know it's not a fair question. I know it's not. But I..."
He takes a while to answer. I hear him breathing. Finally he speaks, looking down at his hands. "I feel everything for you.”
Whoosh. The sound in my ears must be my blood, I think.
He turns to look at me. “I miss you every day, Beth. It's just hard for me to see you sometimes. I'm sorry I let you down."
"It's OK, I understand. This isn't easy for either of us."
He grabs my hand, suddenly. His fingers intertwine with mine.
"Beth, I have a crazy idea. We are probably never gonna get an opportunity like this again to spend time together, to get to know each other."
His hands are strong and warm. Supple, guitar player's hands.
"I want to get to know you Beth."
I shiver. Oh my God. He continues, "I know, I know this sounds awful. But I have wanted to for so long, Beth."
"But what about -" I can't even say her name. I don't want her to muscle in on my moment. Our moment. But I need to know where I stand. What we are doing and how he feels about it. How deep the water is, before I jump off this cliff.
"The thing is, it's so harsh, I know but, when I go back to America, this has to end."
I realise my mouth is open. I close it.
"These few days, a week maybe at most, it's our one-time chance to be together. To wake up together each morning, to talk, to understand each other, to share our lives with each other in a way that we can never do again, physically. Ever."
The finality of his words would have helped me to make my decision, if I was free to make it. But I am powerless to these feelings right now. I know that I can't live with the guilt of breaking up a marriage, a family. But if I can just be allowed to experience what I am hungry for, to get these feelings out of my system, I just might be able to move on afterwards.
"It's a deal," I say. However much you can give, as long as you can give it. Then we will stop."
He looks at me like he's not sure.
I feel the need to qualify. "I promise I won't contact you again after this. We will both have to move on."
He nods. "Well then... Would you mind sitting a little closer?" He adds. "You being cold an' all..."
God, I am about to snuggle up with the man of my dreams. I remove his jacket from my legs, unclip my seat belt and move across to the seat next to his warm, gorgeous, beautiful body, I want to pinch myself.
Within moments, we are kissing. His lips are hungry; his tongue explores my mouth, making me breathe in sharply. His arms encircle me. Joel lifts me up onto his lap as I push my body towards his, wanting more. My hands are touching his face, his neck, his hair. I move to sit astride him.
He starts to pull at my blouse, the buttons pop open obligingly and he doesn't notice my old white bra because immediately one hand is inside it, cupping my breast then squeezing my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. His lips go to my nipple, kiss it lightly, then as the taxi accelerates to join what must be a motorway I start to fumble with his trousers.
Then he stops me; looks into my eyes.
Breathing heavily, he kisses me on the lips on final time, slow and sure. "Whew, whoah there," he says, softly.
My eyes are sparkling, so are his. I am so hot right now I just want to finish what we started. "What's wrong?" I ask.
"I want it to be perfect. I want it to be right," he answers.
I straighten my clothes and snuggle up to him, my hand in his.
A minute later he gently pulls away. "Hey, we'll be there in a few minutes," he says. "We'll have to make it look like this is on the level."
We share one last kiss until the car pulls off of the motorway, then we separate. I go back to my cold seat and try to think of things that aren't sexy at all.
"Can you do an American accent?" He asks.
Random. "Err... No? Why?"
Because I got us interconnecting rooms. And I told them you're my sister. I'll just make out like your husband and kid are joining us later, ask if there's a crib you could use or something."
Well that's definitely not sexy; I can't be looking at a cot the whole time.
"Oh. Ok."
"It was all I could think of..."
"That's alright; I'll do my best with the accent."
We pull off of the main road onto a gravel drive. I see from the entrance sign that this is a five star hotel. There is still enough light that I can see the building in all its Regency glory. It has beautiful ivy and roses growing up the front and a wide turning circle which the driver pulls into. He helps me out, and then takes my bags. I crunch across the gravel. Joel strides ahead as we enter the suitably grand reception.
Luckily Joel does most of the talking. The receptionist looks like she thinks she knows him but can't place him. We are booked under false names, Mr Larkfield for Joel and Mr & Mrs White for me and my fake family. He pays cash up front.
We are shown to our rooms. The porter says he will bring me a travel cot within the hour and I feel I have to mumble, "Gee thanks." I sound like I am Irish.
And in a matter of moments, we are truly alone together.
Joel
The porter sets a crib up in the first suite's bedroom. It is blue and red, much like Harry's travel crib. This brings back memories of Harry, Georgia and me when we've stayed in hotels before with a similar set-up.
We hurry out of that room. I guess neither of us wants to look at the crib. I try not to think about Georgia but I do let myself miss my boy for a moment. It is morning in San Diego...
I try to control my thoughts, for Beth's sake.
She sits down nervously on the soft leather couch and the porter asks us if we'd like to order any room service. I must be tense because I realise I am rubbing my fingers into my forehead as if I have a headache. It's been such a long day and jet lag is setting in.
"I think I've lost my appetite."
Beth scans the menu that's stood on the coffee table. She flexes her new accent, which is now passable if she were Canadian. She orders a chicken salad wrap with a portion of fries and hands the menu to me. I order a steak wrap and fries. Before I have a chance to analyze why, or to think about whether getting drunk is a good idea, I find myself asking for two bottles of red wine. We compare tastes quickly and settle on a Merlot.
I tip the porter twenty pounds and he leaves, smiling broadly. I try to work out what twenty pounds is in dollars.
Beth puts the TV on while we wait. I hear rain start to fall outside and get up to draw the curtains. It's dark out there now; tiny white lights along the edge of the driveway remind me of an airport runway seen from a thousand feet. I drag the heavy red floor-to-ceiling drapes closed.
I sit next to Beth.
"Are you comfortable?"
She wrinkles her nose and looks into my eyes. I smile. She smiles. We snuggle into each other. We find a movie on the TV that neither of us has seen or care to see and we pretend to watch it.
We sit like this for a while until I feel Beth start to wriggle a little against me, then she turns so she's lying to face me instead of the TV.
"I want you," she says, simply.
Something stirs inside my heart and elsewhere and I tell myself I can do nothing but respond. Mindful that we will be shortly interrupted by dinner, I scoot down and we lay side by side on the sofa, our bodies pressed tightly together. I put one arm under and around her to hold her to me. With my free hand I stroke her hair. She nuzzles her face into my chest.
"My God, feel this," she whispers, "put your hand on my chest, feel my heartbeat!"
She pulls away from me and puts a hand to my chest. A look of wonder crosses our faces as we realise our hearts are exactly in rhythm.
"It’s like we're twins or something," I say in mock wonder, sitting up and pulling off my shirt in a swift movement. "So is it kind of... strange that I want to jump your bones?"
She laughs.
I pull her to up to me, part her lips with my tongue and I kiss her deeply. My hands hold her to me so we can feel each other's hearts beating and I can feel her chest rising and falling faster with each frantic breath, as we get lost in a fierce embrace.
For all the fire, this is the most peaceful I have ever felt.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Beth
We are interrupted simultaneously by a knock at the door and the ringing of Joel’s mobile phone.
Joel goes into his bedroom to answer the phone, grabbing his shirt on the way and dashing to get his semi-naked body out of view. I open the door to let dinner in. It is the same porter as before, so I don't worry about tipping him again.
He steers a trolley into the room and carefully arranges the silver dishes, cutlery and napkins onto the dining table. He lights candles on a silver candelabra.
As he does this, I can hear Joel speaking quietly in the other room. I can't make out all of the low, reassuring words he uses but I know he is talking to his wife. Suddenly, a new piece of information hits me as he thinks it, like it’s rolling over and over into my head on tickertape.
Jesus.
She is pregnant again. He is telling her he is happy. He misses her. I actually feel him missing them both, like they are pulling on his heart despite the distance. Despite me.
I feel his love for them. I feel his intention is to return and forget me. It hurts in my heart. Its poison starts to travel through my veins. I try to keep my feelings away from showing on my face with a forced, half-smile.
The porter-slash-waiter adds wine glasses to the table and opens both bottles of wine. He asks if I'd like the wine served now. Feeling unconfident about my accent, I just nod, leaving him to take from that what he will. He looks a bit confused, then takes the trolley and it rattles out of the room.
I wait uncomfortably for a full five minutes for Joel to return before hunger gets the better of me. I uncover my rapidly cooling food and tuck in. Eventually, Joel joins me, apologising profusely.
We finish the meal together in near silence; I can hear his thoughts and they are noise enough.
This is such a mess.
Joel
Georgia called me. She was worrying about the ash cloud. I'd spoken to her earlier, before collecting Beth. Harry was fine, he had another tooth coming through which was causing him some discomfort but Georgia was about to take him in the pool, which was sure to distract him.
Now I sit at the suite's small dining table, across from Beth. We don't speak. My internal monologue is having a field day with my behavior today. I can't quite believe that being with Beth could seem right - or wrong. It just is what it is. I pour us both a glass of red wine. It tastes fantastic, goes down like a dream. We finish eating.
"I'm gonna take a shower," I say, getting up.
"Me too," says Beth.
"Will you be alright, what if you slip or fall?" I ask, then realise that she might have meant she wanted to shower with me. I quickly try and make it better, "I can help you, if you like?" I say, completely straight.
"I'll be OK, thanks. I'd like to wash my hair, you know..." she says, getting up. She walks past the cot.
I go shower. The water washes the day away. I emerge, feeling refreshed and energized. I dress in a clean t-shirt and dark washed jeans. I don't want to look like I think that us making love, or having sex, or whatever we might call it is a 'sure thing' - that seems tacky.
Affairs are tacky though, aren't they?
I finish my glass of wine and pour another. I sit down on the sofa and switch on a news channel. It's nine pm; the coverage shows a belching volcano sending tons of ash 4.500 meters up into the air.
Most of European air space is closed.
I shudder. It's like we're meant to have this time together. I give myself a pep talk because sure, I'm nervous. I can do this. I want this. I need this.
Before my thoughts can get truly collected,
I hear the bathroom door open and close. Beth steps through from her suite to mine. She is wearing a bathrobe. Her hair is wet and she's drying it roughly with a towel.
Beth
I try not to think as I step towards him. I don't want to think.
I feel magnetised. His hand touches my shoulder, his index finger traces lazily up to just below my ear which makes me smile, then back down to my collar bone as I stare deep into his eyes.
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