by Laura Kemp
There, in the half-light of her bedroom, she had watched him, admiring his steady even breathing and the perfect curve of his shoulder, the stillness of his eyelids and the rise and fall of his symmetrical lips; he had looked composed and peaceful. As if he had meant to be there. She’d had to go to the loo, so she’d sneaked out with her dressing gown not wanting to disturb him. Then she had begun to make coffee; she had wanted to take him a cup back into bed where she imagined they could’ve held onto the moment – and planned their next. But he had stirred while she was in the kitchen and walked in, wearing his unbuttoned shirt and black boxers.
‘Hey,’ he’d said, his smile matching the spring sunshine which was flooding the room, and he’d taken a seat at her breakfast bar. It had been the most natural thing in the world and she had known, she still did, that both of them felt no self-consciousness.
‘American pancakes?’ she’d asked. He’d opened his mouth to speak and together they’d both said ‘with bacon and syrup’. She had basked in the reflection of her own happiness as they’d eaten. He had washed up, stacking plates and cutlery in the optimum drying position on the drainer, then he’d made more coffee. It had been too good to be true. And of course it had been. Because when the conversation turned to the rest of the day, when she had asked if he fancied going to a farmers’ market, she had seen his face become tense. He had had to be somewhere. Em had felt the air cool as he had sighed and explained his circumstances with haunted, defeated eyes.
‘He didn’t want to be responsible for anything happening to her and the baby so he went with it. He didn’t say he was “pinned down”, he’s far too decent to say that, but that’s how it looks to me,’ Em said. ‘They both tried, he said, for the baby’s sake, but they were unhappy. Eventually, they faced up to it that it had never been right. He let her stay in their house, which was his, because he didn’t want the baby to suffer.’
Dipping his head towards the counter in her flat, Simon Brown had said he had accepted it, he took responsibility for it and he’d worked through it well enough to cope with the separation from his daughter, but he’d stopped right there. He had felt unable to move on from it. He had brightened when he’d talked of work; it had saved him, he’d said, and she had made him believe he could love again. But he’d said he was too frightened.
‘He’s been living with his mum ever since. So you can imagine how he’d receive my news,’ Em said.
‘But you can’t not tell him.’
‘He told me he’d never want any more children because he’d messed it up with his first. And if he did have another in a relationship then he’d feel so guilty that he wasn’t able to offer both kids the same upbringing. So it was best not to get involved.’ Em had spoken his reasoning word-for-word – it wasn’t hard to remember because it had scorched her heart.
‘Then the apologies came. For taking advantage, for not being upfront, and I had to stop him – I couldn’t let him know how broken I felt. I told him it was okay. Plenty of people, plenty of friends, have sex once then get past it. It doesn’t have to be any different for us. As far as he knows, I shrugged it off and waved a casual goodbye. He never saw me crying.’
Letty held up her hands, acknowledging the difficult odds. ‘But, Em, love can conquer all. Surely?’
Em sniffed. ‘Can it? The worse thing is he said if he was ever going to get together with someone it’d be me.’
‘There, you see?’ Letty said, desperate for a silver lining.
‘No. He was softening the blow. He doesn’t love me. That’s all there is to it.’
Back at Frankie’s…
Frankie
Frankie cleared her throat as the list shook in her trembling hands.
‘So, I’ve called it, um, “Frankie Green’s Sex Education” and then in brackets I’ve put “How Not To Be Boring In Bed”,’ she said more boldly than she felt, trying to put off the evil moment.
Floyd nodded encouragingly. ‘Yes, good. I’m getting a sense of ownership from that. And it’s always handy to make a note of your name should you forget it.’
‘Shush!’ she said. ‘I won’t do this if you’re going to take the piss.’
‘All right, all right,’ he said, holding his hands up by way of apology, ‘I’m sorry. Carry on.’
Frankie stared back at the sheet of paper to collect herself. Just treat it like an adult education class, she told herself. Some people learn a language, others do pottery – I’m signing up for lessons in love-making, that’s all. ‘As I was saying,’ she said, ‘I’ve made a list of ten things I need to do… that we need to do, um, would you mind closing your eyes or not looking at me because this is embarrassing.’
‘Sure, no problem, in fact, why don’t I sit under the table and you can pretend I’m not here?’
‘Yes, good idea,’ Frankie said, delighted.
‘I was joking,’ he said before sighing, heaving himself up and squeezing under the table, tucking in legs and arms like a spider playing hide-and-seek.
‘Ready?’ she asked as the sound of him shuffling about finally stopped.
‘Fire away! By the way, you know this is quite ridiculous because we are going to have to touch one another at some point?’ came a voice from below.
‘Look, I just need a run-up, that’s all,’ she explained. ‘Right, so here I go. Number one, I’ve called it Not The Missionary, and by that I mean I need some direction in positions other than lying flat on my back.’
His hand appeared out from beneath the table to ask a question.
‘Yes?’
‘Sorry. Can I just check something? Do you mean you’ve only ever done it like that? I’m not judging, I just need to clarify it so I know my starting point.’
Frankie was crestfallen. Even though she’d anticipated she’d feel like a freak and he was right to ask, it still stung. ‘Well, that’s the only position I am properly familiar with,’ she said, utterly grateful she didn’t have to look Floyd in the eye. It hadn’t been such a bad idea to get him to sit under the table, see? ‘We got together young. We tried a few things at the beginning, but then after ten years, you sort of fall into a pattern…’
‘That’s fine, not a problem,’ Floyd said. ‘Proceed.’
‘Okay. Um, number two, that’s the… er… sixty-nine,’ she said quietly.
‘What?’ he said.
‘The sixty-nine,’ she repeated slightly louder.
‘The sixty-nine?’ he boomed. She flinched, worrying about her neighbours.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘thank you for making me feel even more mortified, Floyd.’ She heard a snigger and was tempted to boot him when he produced both hands from below in an act of surrender. ‘I, um, chose this because I found it very hard to co-ordinate everything while things were going on downstairs. Legs and lips and hands and tongues and… well, I just got all tangled up the time we tried it.’
‘The time you tried it? As in once?’
‘You’re making me feel like a fridge, Floyd.’
‘Sorry. Again. I’m just making sure, that’s all. The soixante-neuf is like learning to drive.’
She felt a pang of gratitude. Which dissolved quickly as he made references to ‘floppy gearsticks’ and ‘erect handbrakes’.
It was time to move on. But as she drew breath she realized it was like leaping out of the frying pan and into the fire. ‘Number three, spanking. I’ve never done this. I can’t really see how hitting someone or being hit would be pleasurable.’
‘Righty-ho,’ he said, ‘it is a niche area. It’s all about the spur of the moment, that one.’
‘Number four, something risky. Somewhere where we might get caught. Although even thinking about that makes me scared.’
‘Right.’
‘Number five, dressing up. But not as a naughty nurse or schoolgirl because that makes me want to throw up. Something else, I’m not sure what exactly.’
‘We’ll find something,’ he said, all businesslike.
Amazingly,
Frankie was beginning to feel empowered getting this off her chest and she was almost enjoying herself. ‘Number six, erotica. I don’t mean watching porn, because I’ve accidentally clicked on some sites and I don’t think I’ll ever eat cucumber again. But perhaps lap-dancing?’
‘Lap is not erotica. It’s a bunch of office lads smirking over their stiffies. Leave it with me. Next?’
‘Number seven, it’s talking… dirty.’
‘As in, “I can’t believe how filthy the car is”?’
‘Shut up! Number eight, um, orgasms because it didn’t really happen… at all… and it was clearly my fault and I was obviously not doing it right.’
‘Well, I happen to think the opposite – it’s the man’s job to make sure of it. And really, this shouldn’t be a category by itself because hopefully we can approach it as we go.’
Frankie was stunned – it had never occurred to her that it was a joint concern. She’d thought it was her problem, not that she’d minded because it was all about that connection with Jason. But if there was a possibility every time, well, that would be nice.
‘Number nine, sex toys. And I don’t even want to talk about this, it’s so frightening.’
‘Oh, there’s nothing to worry about. Vibrators, love eggs, you name it, I’ve done it. Although no strap-ons, right?’
‘Strap-whats?’
‘Forget it.’ Then she heard him rubbing his hands as he said: ‘So what’s number ten? Is it something spectacular? Swinging from the chandeliers?’
‘Not quite,’ she said, pausing, because this was the one she was most scared of. That’s why she’d left it until the end. ‘It’s the bondage thing,’ she said softly. ‘That was what Jason wanted to do the night he left. He had black handcuffs, and even now the thought of them makes me want to be sick. They were just so… tacky. But it feels like I need to do it to get over it, and there must be other ways, if you know what I mean. Oh, God. Why did I not just agree to it? Then we’d still be together.’
‘Hey,’ Floyd said, ‘don’t go off on one. And that isn’t true anyway,’ he reminded her gently. ‘Small steps,’ he said. ‘And whatever happens, we’ll always stick to the lesson plan, always. No add-ons, no deviations – it will give us boundaries and it will keep things professional. We don’t want either of us feeling things have got out of hand.’ And then his hand was on her knee.
His warm touch did something to her body. There was a strength, a security even, flowing from him to her. Her worry seemed to drain away, and for the first time, she felt as though this arrangement was entirely possible. Maybe it was because she’d known him for so long – they already had an intimacy, a foundation on which to build.
Suddenly the pressure of his fingers changed. It was a subtle shift, setting off the hairs on the back of her neck, going from safe to… what was it? Sexy?
Her breathing changed, it felt shallow from the nerves of anticipation but deep with something physical, a sensation she hadn’t felt in a long time. She shut her eyes and she was floating, swirling and rolling, as if she was underwater.
‘AAARGH!’
‘WHAT IS IT?’ she shouted, jumping up, dancing around like she was on hot coals.
‘I’ve got cramp in my leg, bloody bollocking cocking cramp, aaargh.’
He scrambled out from under the table and began hopping then clutching his limb, while Frankie flapped her hands with adrenalin.
Finally, he stopped moaning. ‘Well, that was good timing,’ he said, sheepishly, ruffling his hair, then coughing and fidgeting with his T-shirt. ‘Sorry about that… I better, you know… shift it. If that’s okay?’
‘Yep, fine,’ Frankie said, still in a daze. ‘Hair. Tomorrow. Work, I mean, so, yes, I’ll see you… soon, then.’
‘Righty-ho,’ he said, walking to the front door, followed by a suspicious Leonardo.
Frankie’s heart began palpitating. She needed to process what had just happened and there was still the goodbye to come. Would he go to kiss her or offer a hug? She sincerely hoped not now, the moment had passed, and if he did, she would most certainly die.
Instead, he crossed the threshold, turned back around and put out his hand. Frankie was so relieved at the inappropriately appropriate offering that she shook it like a rattle.
‘Laters,’ he said, offering an entirely unnecessary salute. ‘I’ll be in… er… touch.’
Good God! That prospect did nothing to settle her! Frankie shut the door and gave Leonardo a full-on wide-mouthed silent scream.
Thursday
Letty
‘Right, everyone, ten press-ups, ten squats and ten burpees – NOW!’
Letitia automatically dropped to the floor and gave it her all. Usually she was pretty easy-going, but when it came to The Body Shop circuits class, she was hideously competitive. Not only did she want to show the men she was as good as them, but she wanted to thrash the other women. Particularly that skinny blonde in a pink Nike bra and tiny matching shorts at the front who was flirting so obviously with Lance. This was the problem with paying for a PT – you thought of them as yours, when in fact you were just one of a number. So when you got together for group sessions, you ended up fighting for his attention.
Letty pretended she was better than that and played it cool by hovering at the back. But who was she kidding? She’d spent half an hour beforehand shaving armpits and legs and doing her make-up and hair – not just for this but for later when Lance was her property. And she’d deliberately worn her halter-neck black crop top and trendy patterned leggings to show she meant business. She didn’t want to look like a simpering fan when she was actually his lover. There was no need to try to catch his eye because she’d already hooked him. She pitied the blonde for being so transparent.
‘Okay, good effort. Find a station and you’ve got forty-five seconds on each then move round clockwise. Go hard, guys, or go home!’
Letty picked the skipping ropes and began to jump in time to the high-energy music.
‘Mind if I join you?’ said the blonde.
Oh, Betty Swollocks, she thought, not her. Letty wanted to say ‘go away, leave me alone, this isn’t a social, it’s serious exercise’, but instead she nodded then focused on her reflection in the mirror so she got the message. But she didn’t.
‘Lance is so good, isn’t he?’ she purred, her voice completely unaffected by the physical effort.
Letty gave her a ‘yeah’ and carried on, watching her face begin to glow. This bloody foundation is supposed to be sweat-proof, she fumed, and I can feel a perspiration moustache forming.
‘He’s just so inspiring,’ she continued, ‘if it wasn’t for him, I’d never have been able to do that triathlon at the weekend. He’s just so giving.’
Giving? You can say that again, Letty thought, and then she began to wonder how giving he’d been with the blonde. This was worth pursuing, she realized, because if he was two-timing her, then she’d walk, no question. It might be a case of double standards seeing as he was married, but still.
‘How long have you been with him?’ Letty panted.
‘Six months. His deep-thigh massage is out of this world.’
Letty felt a rage rising at the thought of him touching someone else. It wasn’t as if she’d had to square the circle of him sleeping with his partner because he’d said they were in separate rooms and why would he lie to her – it wasn’t something he was proud of. And she knew physical contact was part of his job. He’d told her that. To him, people’s bodies were like the engine of a car. But his hands kneading the blonde’s legs, well, how could he be professional in the face of perfection?
A whistle blew and the pair of them moved to the mats for sit-ups.
‘How often do you see him?’ Letty asked, keeping her eyes straight ahead to show she was not bothered.
‘Three times a week, we have such a laugh. Have you just started with him?’ she said, bobbing up and down effortlessly.
Letty seethed at the suggestion; her body didn�
��t look like it had had six months of one-to-one instruction. She had the start of a six-pack, thank you very much!
‘Same as you, but I’ve had a few injuries,’ she lied, then she couldn’t help herself. ‘Lance says my hamstrings are the tightest he’s ever felt – and that includes the southern hemisphere. I think I’m a special case. He’s very attentive.’ She added an imaginary ‘so back off, bitch’.
The whistle went again and – shit – the next was a partnering up abs exercise in which you took it in turns to lie on your back, held on to the other person’s ankles and raised your legs. Letty had no desire to stare up at the competition’s privates.
‘So sorry, I’ll have to move on. My hammies aren’t up to this.’
Thank God, she thought, moving on to the plank. But as she got down onto her front, she caught Lance walking over to the blonde – and oh no, he was only offering to be her partner. Peering from beneath her arm, she saw they had an easy way with one another. The intimacy as they touched and they way their bodies were positioned like something out of the Kama Sutra. He was laughing while she was in the full flow of a story. If they hadn’t gone to bed then it was only a matter of time, judging by their blatant attraction. She had unwittingly thrown them together and she had no one to blame but herself.
Letty concentrated on her forearms which were wobbling from the strain of supporting her weight. What had she been thinking? If he was sleeping with her when he had a girlfriend and baby at home, what would be stopping him from lining up his next bird right in front of her? There was no point trying to moralize because he clearly didn’t have any morals. And if you play with fire, you’re going to get burnt, she thought, those were the rules. At the moment, she was slightly singed, nothing more than that, and she could escape without any long-lasting scars. She’d miss him but she’d put it down to experience and move on. She scrabbled around her head for the self-help mantras she kept on permanent stand-by and cited them to herself as the strain made her legs shake. It was just sex, there was no relationship, the hurt is superficial. It was just sex, there was no relationship, the hurt is superficial.
