“Want something stronger?” Ted asked Rose, leading her out of the bar and into a small liquor storeroom a little way down the corridor before she could answer. “I got my secret stash of vodka in here. I try not to get too loaded before a gig, and anyway, I’m driving later, so you have one.”
Rose’s eyes widened as he took her beer bottle and topped it up with a slug of vodka, but she took the bottle back anyway, taking a tentative sip.
“God, I can’t stop looking at you. The hair, wow! Brave move, Rosie. Most girls think long hair makes them pretty, and for some of them it does, but you were born to have hair like this. It’s wild. You look like a proper rock chick!”
“Are you sure you’re not drunk?” Rose said, unable to resist being flattered by his enthusiasm.
“Not on booze, anyway . . .” Ted moved a fraction closer to her and Rose was sure that he was intent on kissing her. Just as she was frantically working out a way to outmaneuver his lips, Andy stuck his head in through the door, eliciting a dirty look from Ted for his troubles.
“Where’s the voddy? This Shona chick wants it and we’re on!”
“Right, OK, well, I’ll see you out the front, yeah? Right by the stage.”
“I’ll try,” Rose said. “But you know at my age, married, a mother, and everything, moshing isn’t exactly up my street.”
“Moshing.” Ted grinned fondly. “You are so cute.”
• • •
Rose couldn’t exactly say that she was a fan of the Cult of Creation. Their music was very loud, and she had no idea what the lyrics were, although she had to concede that Ted had a great voice and real stage presence—or upturned-beer-crate presence, anyway. Although she remained at the bar for the set, Shona, who had had rather more vodka than Rose, gyrated in amongst the throng of mainly young women who seemed to be devoted to the band, pouting menacingly at Andy. Throughout, it was impossible not to notice that Ted didn’t take his eyes off Rose, singing directly to her the whole time, which might have been exciting if she’d had any idea what he was singing about. And it was impossible not to concede that Ted really was very attractive, from any point of view, even hers. It was more than a little curious that Jenny was right, Ted did seem to be setting his cap at her—because she was different, new, perhaps, or because she was older. Rose genuinely couldn’t fathom the reason, but for someone like him to give someone like her any attention at all was more than a little flattering and exhilarating, not to mention apparently enviable, as a young woman in her twenties elbowed her way past Rose after several minutes of failing to get Ted to notice her, muttering viciously, “What the fuck have you got that I haven’t, you old bag?”
And apart from anything else, it was soothing salve to her pride that had been damaged so badly when she’d realized Frasier’s kind indifference was simply that, and the hour that had meant so much to her was, for him, simply another hour lived and let go of.
“Having a good time?” Shona appeared at her side, her T-shirt clinging to her damp skin. “This lot are bloody brilliant, that Andy thinks I’m hot, I can tell, and young Ted’s been giving you the eye all night!”
“I noticed,” Rose conceded uncomfortably.
“Did you? That’s a bloody first!” Shona exclaimed. “Well, then, what about it, you, me, Andy, and Ted after the show? We can snog in a bale of hay or some shit.”
“No, no, I’ve got to tell Ted to back off,” Rose said, her seriousness lost on her sparkling-eyed friend. “Would you really kiss Andy, even though you’ve only just met, even though . . .” She refrained from mentioning Ryan’s name out loud, as if it might somehow evoke him.
Shona bit her lip, her eyes widening. “I think I bloody might! What about you? You sure you don’t want to kiss Ted?”
“Yes!” Rose was adamant, shaking her head firmly, looking up at Ted just as the band finished the set, being swamped by a crowd of girls at least ten years younger than her as he made his way back to the snug, infuriating most of his fans by gesturing to her to follow him. He was obviously used to girls falling at his feet; he could have his pick. Why would he want to pick her unless . . . unless he could see something in her that made him think she would be a pushover? Rose shuddered.
“It wouldn’t be right,” she said, meeting Ted’s eye. “It would be terribly irresponsible.”
“Why?” Shona pressed her, sensing something that was remaining unspoken. “And don’t tell me it’s because of Dickhead?”
“No, not really. I’m a mother, he’s Jenny’s son. I’m still in love with Frasier—that will take awhile to wear off—and Ted is, well, he’s Ted. We are the last two people who should be gallivanting.”
“Gallifuckingwhat?” Shona laughed. “Maddie’s safely tucked up in bed, Jenny is safely watching telly before indulging in some sort of kinky sex with Brian in one of her porn nighties, and Frasier is out on the town with his girlfriend. These are all the reasons why you should be getting off with Ted. And besides, what happens in Millthwaite, stays in Millthwaite, remember?”
“You don’t understand,” Rose said.
“Only because you aren’t telling me what’s really going on,” Shona said.
But before Rose could reply, Shona was swept up in the crowd of girls, elbowing her way towards the snug, beckoning for Rose to follow.
• • •
“So what did you think?” Ted asked her the moment she came in through the door. He was glowing with sweat and adrenaline. “Impressed?”
“Very,” Rose said. “The crowd loved you!”
“Yeah, to be honest they love anything round here. The real test will be when we go down to London, you know, to try and get a deal.”
“London! When are you going?” Rose asked him, reassuring herself that no man could be more different from Richard than Ted.
“Don’t know, when we’re ready,” Ted said, noncommittal. “Anyway, come on, I’ve something to show you.”
“Oh, yeah, I’ve heard that before,” Shona said, as Ted took Rose’s hand, pulling her out of the room, through the pub kitchen, and into the warmth of a thankfully dry night.
“What, where are we going?” Rose asked him, alarmed. “Ted, I don’t want to go. Where are you taking me? What do you think is going to happen?”
Ted stopped, brought up short by the note of fear in her voice. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t, I’m not . . . Is this about sex?”
“Sex?” Ted’s eyes widened. “Yeah, sure, if you want it to be.”
“No! No, I don’t want it to be. I want it to be completely clear that that is not going to happen. Do you understand that? I don’t want to be kissed, or touched or . . . or . . . I just don’t, I really, really—”
“Hey, it’s OK,” Ted said, raising the palms of his hands to her. “I’m not Jack the Ripper, you know. If you’re not up for it, I get that. It’s cool. Doesn’t mean we can’t hang out, though, does it? I want to take you somewhere,” Ted said, opening the passenger door of his truck for her.
Rose hesitated, eyeing the truck warily.
“It’s OK, I haven’t been drinking, like I said. My mum would properly kill me if I drank and drove.”
“I’m not sure . . .” Rose looked at the open door, seeing a corner she wouldn’t be able to escape from.
“You’re really frightened of me, aren’t you?” Ted took her hand, clearly perplexed by her reaction. “You’re trembling!”
“It’s just . . . I’ve led quite a sheltered life,” Rose said. “I don’t want to lead you on, I want to be clear.”
“And you have been,” he said. “Look, Rose, you don’t have to be scared of me. I’m just Ted from the pub. I’m not going to whisk you away to the middle of nowhere and force you to do anything you don’t want to, because frankly I’m not the sort of bloke who has to force women to do anything. Normally I’m fighting them off me. I just want to show you this place, it’s my place. That’s all.”
“As long as you understand . . .”
>
“I understand,” Ted said gently. “I repulse you. It’s OK, I can take it. You are safe with me.”
“Very well, then,” Rose said, battling down her irrationality, aware that it was Richard, his shadow, his years of controlling her, that were scaring her just as much as the prospect of being alone with Ted. Whatever happened next, she would not let it be because of anything Richard had done to crush her. “Just don’t try anything.”
“Weren’t you listening? I never have to try.” Ted grinned as they pulled out of the pub car park.
• • •
They drove in near silence for what must have been almost twenty minutes, Rose too self-conscious and uncertain of what was really going on to even look at Ted, and him seemingly intent on the twist of country road that revealed itself in the headlights, inch by inch. Instead she gazed out of the window at the alien landscape that unfolded around her, the silhouette of the mountains standing out sharply against the still faintly glowing summer sky. After a while Ted pulled up a track that Rose would never have noticed if she were on her own, and after juddering over its rough surface for a few hundred yards, turned off the ignition, got out of the car and came round to help her out of the truck, lifting her down with his hands on her narrow waist.
He took her hand and led her towards what looked like a copse of trees, which were surprisingly well lit by the moon and starlight. Before long Rose could hear the trickle of water and, watching her feet, she followed Ted up a rough staircase of rocks that tumbled alongside the stream, until they came to a kind of plateau cut into the hillside. There, amongst the gilt-edged trees glittering in the moonlight, Rose could see a tiny waterfall, chiming rhythmically as it cascaded down into the stream below.
“Wow,” Rose said, as Ted spread a blanket out on a rock for her to sit on. “This place is beautiful!”
“I know,” Ted said softly. “When I was a little kid, me and Haleigh used to come here on the holidays. Mum’d pack us a lunch and then send us off for the day. We’d walk here, take us a good hour, stay here all day, just mucking about. Haleigh reckoned there were fairies living in the trees, and I used to play commando. Later, when Haleigh got too cool to hang out with me and started getting into lads, I came here on my own, and you know what the funny thing is, it does feel a little bit magical. I mean, I wouldn’t say that to just anyone, sounds a bit mental, but it does, doesn’t it?”
Rose smiled as she watched Ted’s profile, as he leant back on his hands and gazed at the night sky studded with stars, through the canopy of thin, windswept trees.
“You’re quite a sweet lad really, aren’t you, under all that front and rock-star bluster?” she asked him softly.
“Me? Sweet? Never,” Ted said, directing his gaze to her. “I’ve never brought anyone here until now. I don’t know why I’ve brought you, really. I just wanted to see your face when you saw it. I knew it would make you smile. And I don’t know why, but I get the feeling you don’t smile nearly enough.”
“I’ve smiled a lot more since arriving here,” Rose told him.
“That’ll be down to meeting me,” Ted said, his expression hard to read in the darkness, but the sound of his voice light and playful. He was flirting, that was what flirting was, Rose thought, relieved that being alone with Ted out here, with no one around for miles and miles, didn’t make her as frightened as she’d feared, or indeed frightened at all.
“Rose, can I ask you something?” Ted said. “Not about kissing or anything.”
“I suppose,” Rose said.
“Were things really bad with your husband?”
Rose was surprised by the question, surprised that Ted cared how things were with Richard, assuming that whatever problems Rose had at home, they would be low down on his list of interests.
“Yes,” she said bluntly, feeling that here, in the middle of all this beauty, it would be pointless and wrong to lie. “Yes, things were very bad. Still are, I suppose, although I haven’t spoken to him since I left.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Ted asked her.
Slowly, Rose shook her head. “Not here, not in this lovely place. It’s too . . . special.”
“Fair enough,” Ted said with a simple shrug.
“Do you know what?” Rose said, touched by his frank concern. “You’re OK.”
They sat quietly for a few minutes more, Rose finding that the more she listened to the cascade of the waterfall, the more relaxed she was becoming, approaching something as close to peace as she’d felt in . . . forever. Suddenly it wasn’t just miles that separated her from Richard, from the life that had imprisoned her, but it seemed like universes too, as though somehow she’d traveled light-years through the stars that spun overhead. Perhaps it was possible, her new beginning, her fresh start. It felt possible in that moment, as if really she could wash away the pain and the hurt of the past until she was clean and smooth, like the pebbles in the stream, soothed by the neverending flow of water. Even with her dreams of Frasier becoming a different reality than she’d hoped for, maybe she could still be happy.
Rose was taken by surprise when Ted suddenly lunged forward and attempted to kiss her, shattering her serenity in a second. Squealing, she scrabbled backward, away from him.
“Ted!” she exclaimed. “I thought you—”
“I know, and I do, I just . . . I really want to kiss you.”
Rose stared at what she could make out of his expression in the darkness.
“You don’t just lunge at someone,” she protested, the fear that had temporarily surged through her dissipating as quickly as it had built up.
“I know!” Ted said, rolling his eyes like a teenager. “I just . . . It’s such a pretty night . . . and . . . I was just checking that you were completely sure you didn’t want to kiss me.”
“I’m such a mess, kissing anyone now would be a mistake,” Rose said. “It’s not you, it’s me.”
“Oh, God.” Ted looked so despondent that Rose almost wanted to reach out to touch him. Almost. They sat there for several moments in the moonlight, in silence, Rose thinking of the look on Richard’s face when she’d last seen him. Of the way her father did his best not to look at her, of how Frasier had so politely shaken her hand and said goodbye, and it was as if, for just that moment, none of it, not a single second of what had come before or what would come afterwards, mattered at all.
“Kiss me, Ted,” Rose heard herself saying.
“What?” Ted looked sharply at her.
“Just kiss me, I’m ready,” Rose said anxiously, before clamping both hands over her mouth. “Wait . . . OK. Ready. Now I’m ready.”
Rose watched warily as Ted took her hand in his and ever so gently tugged her towards him; their eyes met, his shining blackly in the moonlight, at the same moment their lips met. Rose closed her eyes then, feeling the warmth of his lips gently pressing against hers, his fingers sliding up from her wrist to her forearm. After a few seconds more with no obvious signs of protest, he gently opened her mouth with his tongue and Rose felt his fingers tighten around her arm, his other hand resting on her waist as he kissed her properly.
“OK,” Rose said, breaking contact as soon as she felt that she might get a little too lost in the moment. “OK, great. Thank you.”
“Thank you?” Ted said, his face still close to hers, his lips still moist. “So how was it so far for you?”
“Nice, thank you,” Rose whispered back, caught between wanting to experience that altogether pleasant sensation again and wanting very much to run in the opposite direction.
“Same for me. You are a very good kisser,” Ted said sweetly, and Rose couldn’t be sure in the half dark, but she thought he might actually be blushing.
“Really?” she asked him. “Only . . . really?”
“Yeah, a lot of girls are very, you know, full on. Sometimes kissing can be like fighting off a man-eating tiger. But not with you. Kissing you is very lovely.”
“Lovely,” Rose said, testing the word
on her lips, just as much as she’d tested Ted’s lips. For so very long kissing had been a thing to be endured, a hated thing, an expression quite often of contempt and control. Never, not once, not even at the very beginning, had Rose ever kissed Richard and thought it was lovely. But that is exactly what it was like with Ted. It was soft, sweet, innocent, and . . . lovely.
“Could we kiss again?” Rose asked Ted. “I mean just kissing. Nothing else, no touching or getting heated. Just like we were before. Just like that. Can we kiss like that, but for longer?”
“How long?” Ted asked her, sweetly amused by her list of kissing criteria. “Should I set a clock?”
“Until I want to stop,” Rose said, suddenly burying her head in her hands. “Oh God, I know what I sound like, I sound like a nutter. A grown woman wanting to kiss like a twelve-year-old, but if you knew—”
“I don’t need to know,” Ted interrupted her. “I’m just ridiculously happy that kissing me makes you feel nice. And I’m very, very happy to keep on kissing you until the sun comes up, if that’s what you want.”
Before Rose could think of anything else to say, Ted was kissing her again, this time pressing her very gently backwards until she found herself half lying on his blanket. Rose closed her eyes against the starry sky and felt her skin tingle and fizz with pleasure, her hands lying chastely at her sides, and Ted’s hands holding her ever so lightly. Kissing Richard had never been like this, she thought dimly, and without knowing it would happen she heard a sigh become a tiny moan and realized that noise had come from her throat.
“I have to say,” Ted breathed into her ear, “I’m finding kissing you very nice indeed. Say if it gets too nice.”
“I will,” Rose whispered back. “I think I’m fine for now, though.”
Rose wasn’t sure how long they went on that way, simply kissing as the stars wheeled above them, the water splashing by, the world as oblivious of them as they were of it, but suddenly, from nowhere, she felt something shift inside her, a rush of longing or desire that she was completely unfamiliar with bubbling up, and for one moment, without her even realizing it, her arms had wound themselves around Ted, and she was pulling his body tightly against hers. Panicking as she came to her senses, Rose pushed him away and sat up, catching her breath.
The Runaway Wife Page 16
