The Way Back Home

by Freya North

  Whenever her glass was emptying, he refilled it. Whenever the conversation flowed away from her, he guided her back in. If there was an in-joke, he gave her access. Whenever she looked at him, he was already smiling at her.

  ‘This is a nice bunch,’ she said to him. ‘I liked the lot we met up with last week at the Stag too. And those guys at the pub quiz. And of course your work chums.’

  ‘I’m lucky.’

  ‘You know loads of people,’ Oriana marvelled. ‘Mr Popular. I can count my true friends on the fingers of one hand.’ It was something she’d always felt proud of. Jed, though, gave her a look of condolence.

  ‘I’m lucky,’ said Jed. But then he wondered, out of all the people who liked him, how many truly knew him? Was there anyone in the world who knew him as well as Oriana did? Probably only his brother.

  ‘More champagne anyone?’

  Oriana watched as Jed was thanked and patted and cheered. He looked over at her, her cheeks flushed, her smile wide, her eyes simultaneously sparkling yet glazed with champagne. He glanced at his watch; the evening started so long ago but the night was still young. He perused the table: bottles of champagne, some empty, two still full; shiny-faced revellers having a great time all thanks to him. His back was slapped and his good health constantly toasted. There was a girl with them tonight – Kathy – with whom he’d had a brief dalliance. She was still keen even now, when it was so obvious to everyone that he only had eyes for Oriana. Jed looked at Oriana and at the people sharing his evening and at the table groaning with glasses and he thought to himself, I’m a pretty good catch.

  The cold of the early hours hit Oriana as much as the smell of kebabs and chips which clung temptingly to the air.

  ‘Oh God, I am drunk,’ she wailed at Jed. ‘You bad man. You bad, bad man.’

  ‘You can’t be that drunk,’ he reasoned, taking her arm and linking it through his as though it was necessary to steady her. ‘Because if you were, you wouldn’t have walked past the takeaway, you’d be pushing your way to the front.’

  ‘True,’ said Oriana.

  ‘Do you want a kebab?’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘Did you enjoy it tonight?’

  ‘I had a brilliant time.’ She thought about it. ‘I had a brilliant day.’ She thought about her job and how much taller she felt after the phone call than before, how she felt older now but no longer half as old as she had been feeling. This morning she’d felt a little ragged, faded. Now she felt talented and bright. ‘I feel – capable.’

  ‘Capable?’

  ‘I’d been feeling anything but. As if whatever I might design would surely collapse.’

  ‘Now you’ll be paid to design skyscrapers.’

  ‘Residential,’ she qualified.

  ‘Mansions, then.’

  She giggled.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ he asked and in one simple move, his arm was now around her and travelled swiftly from her shoulder to settle at her waist. Within two paces, she had her arm around his waist too. Walking was just too jolting otherwise. ‘What’s so funny?’ he asked again, slowing right down. Stopping, giving her a little squeeze. ‘Eh?’

  ‘Not funny per se,’ she qualified, pulling away to stand, hands on hips, to think about it. She was pleased to discover that the buttons on his shirt were no longer levitating above the fabric as they had appeared to do when they left the bar. ‘Not funny – just every reason to laugh.’ She looked at Jed, wonderment wrinkling her nose. ‘What a day! I got a job. But Cat had a baby!’ She paused. ‘She gave birth today. She’s a mom.’

  Jed put the key in the door and opened it

  ‘You just said “mom”,’ he said casually over his shoulder.

  ‘Fuck off!’ she said, jogging after him and into the lift. ‘I said “mum”.’ She pressed the button for the third floor.

  ‘You did not!’ He looked at her wryly. ‘You said “mom”. Yank.’

  She bashed him lightly on the chest and he caught her wrist and held it, his eyes completing the net he’d encircled her with.

  ‘We’re all grown up,’ he said and his tone of voice had changed from larky to a murmur. The resonance of his words hung thickly like humidity in the closed air of the lift. He didn’t let go, of her eyes or her wrist. He slipped his fingers through hers and led her to his flat.

  The mess he made of fitting the key to the tricky lock and jiggling it open, the clumsy removing of shoes, the slinging of coats, the sudden running of noses that the warm interior caused – nothing intervened on the overriding sense of anticipation.

  He was very close.

  When did you get so tall, Jed? When did your cheeks develop that smooth scoop? The crinkle at your eyes? The width of your neck and the breadth of your shoulders?

  He stepped closer, one hand lightly at the base of her back, the other holding hers again. For a suspended moment in which she had plenty of time to think but none to act, Oriana knew he was going to kiss her. Her power of reasoning was immobilized. As his face came closer and her focus blurred she forgot about who she was and whom she loved because all that mattered was the sensation. Sometimes, the cerebral is unrelated to the physical. Sometimes it’s just better to feel than to think. Sometimes the exhilaration of the moment outweighs the risking of the long-term. Sometimes it’s all simply down to the pursuit of pure pleasure.

  A portion of fries after dieting. A pillow after a long sleepless journey. Sheepskin boots after a day in high heels. A stilled car after hours on a motorway. Closing the front door at the end of a shit day. That’s what kissing Jed was. It was something not tasted for a long, long while and never had it felt more timely. The last person she’d had any intimacy with had been Casey though it was months before the end of the relationship when he’d actually kissed her like this. But she didn’t think of that, or of Casey, or Jed, or even Malachy. She was, quite simply, present. She was just kissing for the joy of kissing and grabbing at all that it gave. The thrill of another’s lips moistened, and the flick of someone else’s tongue, the actual taste of their desire for her when for so long she’d been desired by no one. Hands travelling over her body, the buzz between her legs, fingers through her hair, the sound of someone wanting her: hastened breathing, a burgeoning sigh.

  Like fries after dieting it probably wasn’t a very healthy idea but as with anything denied for so long, the temptation was to gorge. How she might feel afterwards had no place in her conscience right now. Jed took her hand and led her away from the thought and into his bed.

  Clothes were shed at the same rate as inhibition, what was normally concealed came into the open. Jed didn’t want to tell her how she’d changed because he wanted what he’d long dreamed of: continuity. He wanted this Oriana to be exactly the same as the one he’d lost his virginity to almost two decades ago. Over the years in between, he’d recalled vividly every dip and sway, the hue of her nipples, the shape of her belly button, the feel of her legs. Now, almost everything was just slightly altered. Undulations were a little more pronounced, arms thinner, hips that bit wider, legs like a woman not a girl, breasts fuller, stomach softer. What hadn’t changed was the silkiness of her skin and as Jed’s hands swooped all over her, so he could conjure again how it had felt all those years ago.

  The feel of a man. The broadness of shoulders and sense of safety being in strong arms. Oriana folded herself tight within his embrace and buried her nose in his neck, returning to his mouth every now and then. She couldn’t work out if she was hot or cold but she could feel herself shake as hands stroked her thighs, her nipples were sucked, fingers probed inside her tantalisingly gently, eliciting her wetness and desire. Her eyes closed and she let him push her onto her back. As she felt his mouth brush and kiss and taste and bite, she couldn’t have opened her eyes had she tried. Lower he went until he was licking up her inner thighs, kissing at her while pushing her legs open. His nose nudging, his tongue flicking, his fingers joining in the play until it felt as though he was drinking her in
when she orgasmed. The pulsing pleasure enveloped her in wave after wave, transporting her far from where she was and where she hoped to be. Her body took over, and greedily. And then she opened her eyes and in the darkness of the room everything was glaringly clear.

  That’s not the sound I make when I come.

  I am crying.

  I am awake.

  I am present.

  I am here.

  I don’t want to have sex with Jed.

  * * *

  She tried to push him away, she tried to pull her thighs together, she turned her face away from his and used her hands to lever his chest off hers. But she couldn’t say a word because her throat was tight with tears. He thought, is that the noise she makes when she comes? It sounded unfamiliar but he couldn’t remember back to when they’d been young and inexperienced, he couldn’t remember what sex between them had actually been like. He’d embellished the memories to such an extent that the fiction was more real. However, the musky scent of her was in his nose, his mouth was full of the taste of her and the need to be inside her was so strong it felt as though his entire being was flowing into his cock.

  ‘For so long,’ he murmured. ‘For so long.’

  She was sure she said no. She could hear herself yelling it inside her head. But the realization that she couldn’t be heard was terrifying. Clamp your legs shut, she screamed at herself. Turn away! Push him off. The paralysis and panic were worse than quicksand in a dream.

  Her legs were being spread, her mouth had been plugged with tongue, her breast was being kneaded, her hair was grabbed as he pushed up into her. And that was when a little part of her switched off and closed down.

  Everything went black and deep and silent. The only thing she could feel was the stinging slick of one fat, silent, oily tear. Into her head came Malachy and, at the sight of him, finally she let go; she wilted and she wept.

  It was precisely then – when her body went limp, just seconds before he realized she was crying – that Jed stopped abruptly. He pulled out of her and flicked on the light. She was facing away from him, curled in a muddle, the prominence of her spine a tattered, curved ridge. Jed watched her body shake. What had he done? What on earth had he done? Had he hurt her? Did she not like it? He hadn’t been rough, had he? He’d been immersed in his desire for her – but he hadn’t meant to hurt her. He would never hurt her.

  And then it struck him. Did she not want it? Had she said no but he hadn’t heard? Had she tried to resist? He pulled the sheet tight around him, suddenly ashamed of his stridently hard cock. Should he touch her? He reached a hand tentatively for her shoulder and laid it there as gently as he could. What damage had been done?

  ‘Oriana?’

  He could detect the extreme effort of keeping her sobs to herself.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  He tried to cuddle up and spoon lightly against her, to make her feel safe the way he had once been able to, but he felt her stiffen and then slink away.

  ‘Oriana?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  Didn’t she want him? Was that what it was? After all they’d shared, all those years that had passed since, and now this extraordinary opportunity to pick up where they’d left off – did she simply not want him? He looked at the way she’d folded herself up. She was in the brace position as if she was plummeting.

  He wondered, has she changed her mind? And then he wondered, or was it me who made it up for her?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  When Oriana sat beside Cat, next to the clear plastic cot and dropped her head and cried, Cat beamed and felt quite proud that the birth of her daughter could move her friend so.

  ‘It’s just I am really really happy for you,’ Oriana said, her face a blear of tears and snot.

  ‘Thanks,’ Cat said. She wasn’t quite sure if the baby was latching on. It hurt. There were no nurses around.

  ‘I don’t know what I’m doing,’ she said to Oriana.

  Oriana looked at her. ‘Neither do I.’

  They smiled at each other, at the baby, at Cat’s boob, and then they both started to laugh.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘Have you done this before?’

  ‘Isn’t it like hanging a picture? Don’t we have to just hook the baby on somehow?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know. Yesterday, the midwife helped.’

  ‘Shall I go and find someone?’

  ‘Good luck with that.’

  Cat winced as the baby chomped down, unaligned.

  ‘Ouch,’ said Oriana. Then she had a thought. ‘Try holding her like a rugby ball?’

  ‘Surprising as it might seem,’ said Cat, ‘I’ve never actually played rugby.’

  ‘It’s just I recall at Windward – do you remember Plum and Willow? When their baby brother came, there was a lady with a long silvery plait and skin as smooth and brown as a conker. I don’t know who she was or how long she stayed but I do remember her placing the baby – like this.’ Gently but authoritatively, Oriana changed the position of Cat’s baby, facing her little body the other way, supported by a pillow.

  ‘Yes – this is how it’s meant to feel! I am being milked!’

  ‘Does it hurt?’

  ‘Sort of, but I think it’s meant to feel like this – not like that.’ Cat looked at Oriana. ‘We’ll make a midwife out of you yet.’

  ‘Well, it’s a nice offer,’ said Oriana. ‘But I’ve already accepted another job.’

  Cat was thrilled to hear about it; it took her mind off the stinging yomp of the baby suckling. ‘Shouldn’t you look a little more over the moon?’

  ‘I am,’ said Oriana, her little finger tight within the baby’s grip. ‘It’s just – other stuff.’ She glanced at Cat who was eyeing her suspiciously.

  ‘You have to tell him how you feel, Oriana,’ Cat said earnestly. ‘You need to go to Malachy and tell him what he means to you.’

  ‘How did you know it was Malachy?’

  ‘Are you nuts? It’s always been him. You need to bring it to fruition. It’s been years and years in embryo. It’s ridiculous.’

  ‘Why would he feel the same way?’

  Cat gave her a look. ‘Even if, after everything, nothing comes of it – you still need to release the tumbling truth that’s caught up inside you.’

  ‘I never loved anyone like I loved him.’

  ‘Don’t put him in the past tense.’

  ‘It’s too complicated.’

  ‘That’s an excuse. A stupid one. You’re not a teenager. You’re a grown woman. You deserve exactly what I have. You’d be bloody good at it.’

  ‘Something happened with Jed,’ Oriana said, casting her eyes down.

  ‘Something’s always happening with Jed,’ said Cat. ‘He’s that type of boy. But Malachy’s the one for you.’

  ‘It’s just – I don’t know. It seems to me that I bring chaos and cause a mess wherever I go.’

  ‘You’re being way too melodramatic,’ said Cat. ‘Jesus.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Oriana thought back over the years. ‘They never gave me the chance to say sorry.’

  ‘Seems to me you have that opportunity now.’ The baby had slipped off Cat’s nipple in drunken oblivion.

  They sat in silence gazing at tiny brand new Annabel who spun warm threads of calm and contentment around them.

  ‘It’s just that yesterday Jed and I – well. Sort of but not really. There was alcohol. And I was emotional. And I closed my eyes because I was being kissed and ravished and I liked the feeling. Then I opened them – and I really didn’t want to be there. It was awful. Just awful.’

  Cat stared at her levelly. ‘In a peculiar way, it will be easier to rectify your friendship with Jed than develop your relationship with Malachy. But when did you ever take the simple route anywhere?’

  Oriana let Cat’s words hang in the air.

  ‘Oriana – it seems to me that despite a massive detour via America, your destination was always W
indward.’

  When Django arrived, Oriana took a back seat – literally moving to an orange plastic chair in the corner of the ward. It was good to be alone with her thoughts. She would clean up the mess she’d left in Sheffield, it wasn’t impossible. The situation was awkward but not caustic. It was like a bowl of cereal spilt before the milk’s poured in. Annoying but a small mercy to be thankful for. Last night with Jed – what might that jeopardize? Must Malachy know? She shuddered, though, when she thought of Malachy. How to get close to him, when being close to him was all she’d ever wanted? And what if he didn’t reciprocate? If he didn’t feel the same? Because, after all, why should he?

  She read again the texts he’d sent last night which she’d found this morning. She knew she was feeling over-emotional but still she thought there was a certain predictable tragedy that she hadn’t come across them at the time. That’s why she hadn’t shown them to Cat. Fate, it seemed to her, had a horrible way of intervening in her relationship with that man. It was as if some greater power was saying, time and again, no, not him, when every fibre of her being contradicted that and said only him. No one else.

  She watched from afar as Django took the baby into his arms, saw how Cat’s field of vision had polarized around what was important in her life, what now defined her. Mom. Mummy. There were hundreds of words for it in every tongue known to Man and yet not a single word could really encapsulate it.

  She would speak to Malachy. She would speak to Jed. She prayed that Jed, whom she did so love, would understand what she said even if he hated the sound of it. And she’d have to prepare herself that Malachy, whom she loved so deeply, might tell her what she dreaded. She would have to acknowledge that the truth is the only thing worth listening to because truth, unlike lies, has a future.