A Year of New Adventures

by Maddie Please

  He smiled and topped up my wine glass.

  He lifted his glass and tilted it towards me. ‘Here’s to doing unexpected and exciting things,’ he said.

  His eyes locked on to mine and there’s no other way to describe it, I felt a bolt of lust firing through me for the first time in oooh ages I suppose. It was a good job I was sitting down because I don’t think my legs would have supported me. And it was a very good job the light was fading because I could feel myself blushing; I was probably crimson all over. Can your knees blush? It felt as though mine were.

  I wished I had thought to change out of my work clothes because it felt like an exotic moment. Instead of jeans and a fleecy sweatshirt, I should have been in a flimsy tea dress with my hair in swooping curls or maybe a slinky satin number like Selina. No maybe not, it wasn’t that warm and I didn’t have the figure for it any more than Selina did with her ‘tight in every place’ frock.

  ‘Any more carnage today?’ I asked to break the ensuing silence.

  ‘Only a couple,’ he said. ‘Nothing significant.’

  ‘How many do you usually get though on a daily basis?’

  He laughed. ‘Half a dozen? It all depends how I feel. Sometimes there aren’t any. Occasionally there is mayhem.’

  I shook my head. ‘I hate to think what the body count is then. Ross Black must be responsible for the death of thousands.’

  ‘Ah well, Ross Black is dead, new publisher, new contract, new name.’

  ‘Really? That’s exciting. What are you going to be called this time?’

  ‘I can’t tell you just yet. There are a couple of possibilities out there.’

  We carried on talking as the shadows lengthened. As I’d hoped, he had loosened up a bit and we seemed to be getting on quite well. I found my woollen throw and I brought the beef casserole out in bowls with some crusty bread and Not My Cat inched closer, its eyes crossed with longing.

  ‘Cupboard love,’ I said.

  Oliver laughed. ‘Cats do seem to like me. I’ve no idea why.’

  ‘I expect Kitty Ford-Wilson’s cat is your most devoted fan!’

  Oliver looked at me and laughed. ‘She told you then? How I hurt my leg?’

  ‘She did. Motorbike accident? She roared with laughter at the very thought.’

  ‘I was trying to sound more interesting.’

  ‘Silly.’

  Oliver reached down and scratched the cat’s head. It rolled over, its paws in the air.

  ‘I think he likes you,’ I said.

  Oliver looked across at me, his eyes dark. ‘I like you,’ he said.

  I could hardly breathe. ‘Do you?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ he said.

  *

  We finished the bottle of wine and Oliver went to get another when I took the dishes in. I switched the kitchen light out so that it didn’t shine out and spoil the beauty of the night. Without a word we went back into the garden. This time he pulled my chair around to be closer to his and I sat with my thigh touching his, stunned by the intensity of my feelings.

  I was drunk. That was all. No that wasn’t it. I was a bit tipsy but I wasn’t drunk. Was he? He didn’t seem it. He just seemed relaxed and different from the tense and unhappy man he had been when I first met him.

  We discussed books we had read recently and what his new publisher in America was like. We compared childhood holidays – Devon for me and Cape Cod for him.

  But then he took my wine glass and put it down on the table with his. And he turned towards me, his eyes glowing in the soft light.

  ‘Billie,’ he said, his voice very low, ‘come here.’

  And then he kissed me.

  I mean I’ve been kissed before – of course I have – but not like this.

  Not in a way that turned my insides to molten lava. Not in a way that quite possibly would melt the zip on my jeans and the buttons on my shirt.

  I gave a little whimper in the back of my throat and he pulled me round so I was sitting in his lap. I hoped the chair would take the weight. But then I stopped worrying about that and began to enjoy myself. Bloody hell it was fantastic. It made me realize what I’d been missing all these years with stupid types like Matt who didn’t always associate the joy of kissing with oral hygiene or taking his gum out first.

  I could feel his hands on my breasts, warm through my shirt, and I shuddered with pleasure.

  I hoped he realized how well my new bra fitted. I still had a definite muffin top, but he didn’t seem to mind. It certainly didn’t put him off. I pushed my fingers into his warm hair and kissed him back.

  I could feel his hands on my skin and I began to undo the buttons of his shirt. I don’t think I really knew what I was doing but I knew I wanted him. I wanted him now. As quickly as possible. Here in the garden, on the cold, sweet-smelling grass.

  Suddenly Oliver pulled back. He was trembling. ‘I’m not sure I meant to do this,’ he said, his voice a bit shaky. ‘I just couldn’t resist you any longer …’

  Resist me? Any longer? Crumbs!

  ‘… and you just looked so beautiful, so glorious sitting there. Believe me I’ve been wanting to do that for quite some time.’

  Me? Glorious?

  He bent his head down and kissed my breasts, his breath warm, his tongue tasting me just as I’d hoped he would. Then he smoothed back my hair and took my face in his hands and kissed me again.

  I could feel the muscles in his shoulders hard under my hands.

  ‘Oh God, Billie. I’m sorry. I’m going in before I say or do something stupid,’ he said.

  ‘Oh,’ I whispered, my spirits plummeting.

  No go on, say something stupid. I might like it.

  Whatever he was thinking of doing or saying I bet I would have been completely fine with, but I didn’t have the nerve to say so. Instead, like a muppet, I watched him going inside, and the light in his room shine out into the darkness before he closed the curtains. Then, shivering, I went in and locked the back door and finished my glass of wine, cursing my reticence.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I think I fell asleep just after midnight, my legs jumbled up in the bedclothes as I tried and failed to get comfortable. My thoughts were equally as tangled.

  He thought I was glorious? Happy and Glorious. That was in the National Anthem wasn’t it? And beautiful; he thought I was beautiful too. And he had found it hard to resist me.

  Since when?

  Since when did he find it hard to resist me? That was the question I wanted to ask. Had he been fighting the urge to kiss me, to touch me since the first time I saw him when I couldn’t unlock the front door and I was yelling at him and he was standing outside in the rain? Or when I’d gone into his room with the jug of iced water and seen him … nooo! No, I mustn’t think about that.

  At all!

  Bad, stop it!

  Perhaps it was when he caught me stuffing in broken biscuits in the larder or spitting wine down my front? Oh God perhaps he was teasing me? Perhaps it was all a silly joke? Had he gone off upstairs to have a good laugh, muffled by his pillow? I fell asleep remembering the feel of his hands on my skin.

  *

  I woke up and it was very dark. I had kicked the duvet off and I was cold. I heard something. I sat up in bed, my ears straining to hear the sound again. Nothing.

  I reached over to find my phone and see what time it was: four-thirty.

  There. That was the noise. I heard it again. Downstairs. What was it? It had better not be that bloody cat from next door chomping through the remains of the beef. Had I shut the kitchen window properly?

  I pulled on my dressing gown and went to open my bedroom door. Oliver’s door was still closed and there was no sound from his room. He didn’t snore then?

  Shut up. You’ll be thinking about what he wears in bed next!

  I went to the landing and listened again. There! The noise had come from downstairs, definitely. I put the landing light on and went down a few stairs and listened again. It was a sor
t of cry. A quiet shout if that makes sense.

  At the bottom of the stairs I opened the door to the sitting room. There was someone in there, someone on the sofa. Someone in distress, someone turning and twisting with a nightmare.

  ‘God, God no, please!’ The voice was a tortured whisper. It was Oliver.

  I hesitated in the doorway. What should I do? Perhaps I should just go back upstairs and leave him to his bad dreams, but somehow I couldn’t. I trod carefully into the room, my bare feet silent on the rug.

  There was a muffled noise from Oliver. I was standing next to him. In the gloom I could just see his face and the tears staining his cheek. He was crying in his sleep. I should leave; I should turn and leave him. He might be embarrassed to know I had heard him? But he was in distress; I couldn’t just leave him.

  I crouched down beside him and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. He flinched. He gasped and woke up.

  ‘Are you OK? I heard you. I came to see you. Why are you down here? What’s the matter?’

  He reached out from under the duvet he had wrapped around himself and took my hand.

  ‘Billie,’ he said. He was looking at me.

  ‘I’m here,’ I said.

  He pulled my hand to his mouth and kissed the palm. ‘Thank God,’ he said.

  I could feel the tears on his face and my heart contracted with emotion.

  ‘I just wanted to help,’ I said. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Come here.’

  He pulled me towards him and somehow I was lying with him under his duvet, his body warm, his hands pulling me close to him until we fitted together. It’s a good job I’ve got a big sofa.

  He kissed my cheek, my temple, my eyelids and then he pushed my hair back off my face and kissed me properly.

  ‘Oh, Billie, Billie,’ he whispered. ‘Thank God. I thought … Billie.’

  His hands were pushing my dressing gown off my shoulders. I reached down and untied the sash. I could feel his naked body against mine. Nothing but nothing had ever felt so good. His shoulders, his chest was warm and hard under my fingers. We explored each other, his touch tender, gentle.

  ‘I want you, Billie, so much,’ he said. He stopped, raised himself up on one elbow, and looked down at me, waiting for me to say something. To pull away? I don’t know.

  ‘Billie?’

  I couldn’t speak. I wanted him with every last bit of me. Yes, I hadn’t had sex for quite a while but this was different somehow. Was it passion? Need? Lust? Want? I couldn’t say, I just knew I couldn’t and wouldn’t stop.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘oh yes.’

  I felt the muscles of his back moving under my fingers, the hardness of his thighs, the willingness of him. His fingers were warm and strong as he held me in the darkness, his mouth gentle on my body, delivering the lightest of kisses. His teeth grazed gently against my stomach, then I felt the trace of his tongue, as he tasted me. Tested my responses. He waited and I closed my eyes and gave myself up to the feel of him. The kindness of his touch, the warmth of his breath on my body, my hands buried in his warm hair. The pleasure mounted until I cried out, helpless in his arms. Then he held me and turned me while he whispered in my ear.

  Yes, yes, oh yes.

  He pulled me down underneath him and suddenly in one wonderful moment my world was complete, just like that. His breath warmed my throat; his kisses traced a path down my neck. He called my name and rocked against me as I trembled and cried out in the darkness.

  *

  I don’t know how long we lay like that, together, breathing in and out, not speaking. The first grey light of the dawn was lighting the window.

  ‘Billie,’ he said, his mouth against my cheek.

  I turned to look at him. ‘Are you OK?’ I said.

  Now that’s a stupid question isn’t it? I think even I know enough about men to know they are generally OK in this sort of situation.

  He smiled down at me and raised himself so I could move my leg, which was in danger of going numb.

  ‘That was …’ He didn’t finish the sentence.

  I wondered what he was going to say.

  That was fine? Average? Entertaining?

  ‘… absolutely mind-blowing.’

  Phew that was a relief. I hadn’t forgotten how to do it then.

  ‘I’ve imagined what it would be like so many times, wondered how it would feel,’ he said.

  Blimey, had he?

  He kissed me and smoothed his hands over me again.

  ‘Why are you downstairs anyway?’ I said at last. ‘Isn’t the bed comfortable?’

  ‘Of course, it’s fine. Really don’t worry.’

  ‘Then why are you down here? Sleeping on the sofa?’

  He gave a funny sort of laugh.

  He pulled me back against him so we were spooned together, and rested his chin on the top of my head.

  ‘I’m not a great sleeper.’

  I could feel his voice rumbling against my back. It was lovely, sort of comforting.

  ‘I used to get these nightmares all the time. These days not so much.’ He ran a hand over my breasts with a groan of pleasure. ‘You are fantastic. That ex-boyfriend of yours must be a copper-bottomed idiot to let you go.’

  We lay entwined for a few minutes and I wondered if he had fallen asleep but then he kissed my shoulder and I shivered.

  I was desperate for a cup of tea. But if I got up I’d probably need the loo and then the mood would be completely wrecked.

  How did people manage to do things elegantly in these circumstances? If I got up I’d need to find my dressing gown and no one needs to see me with my arse in the air first thing in the morning, let’s be honest.

  ‘Can I make you a cup of tea?’ he said. ‘I’d really love one.’

  I breathed out a sigh of relief. A kindred spirit. And it would give me a chance to find my dressing gown too.

  ‘Yes please. That’s a brilliant idea.’

  He got up, pulled on some boxer shorts, and went out to the kitchen. I scrabbled around until I located my dressing gown hanging over the back of a chair and dashed to the loo.

  He was back in a few minutes with two mugs of tea.

  ‘I thought you only ever drank coffee?’ I said.

  ‘Not all the time.’

  He sat down next to me and put an arm around me.

  ‘I think I’ve taken your hospitality a bit too far, Billie,’ he said.

  ‘Have you? I didn’t notice,’ I said with a sort of laugh. Jeez was he regretting it already? That would be a new record, surely?

  ‘I let my feelings get a bit ahead of myself,’ he said. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘You don’t have to apologize,’ I said.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  I felt a bit odd; the atmosphere was stalling by the second.

  ‘Oliver, I’m positive.’

  We sat and drank our tea in silence. What had I done wrong? I’d definitely done something.

  Outside the sky was the palest grey tinged with pink as the sun rose over the garden and Not My Cat leapt up onto the windowsill and mouthed through the glass at the object of its desire. I felt like closing the curtains. Or chucking something at it.

  ‘I want to explain something,’ Oliver said at last. ‘I think I owe you that much.’

  I didn’t move but I could almost feel my ears pricking up. ‘You don’t owe me anything, Oliver.’

  ‘Once I leave here I might not see you again. I know I’m going to be spending more time in the States in future,’ he said.

  My heart sank.

  I’ve been given the ‘morning after’ brush-off before now; I know how it works.

  You’re a lovely girl but …

  I’m still in love with my ex …

  I’ve even had It’s not you it’s me …

  Even so I’d never had someone plan to leave the country even before they’ve put their clothes back on, in order to get away from me. Perhaps I had forgotten how to do sex after all. Or maybe I’d alw
ays done it wrong. I’d always suspected as much. There should be books, or advice manuals about men. Like those books on Ford Cortinas you see in Halfords. The Haynes Guide to Men’s Bits.

  Actually, there are loads of self-help books. It’s just I’ve always been too embarrassed to buy them. Perhaps that’s why Kindles are so popular: people can read that sort of stuff without someone else looking at them and snorting with laughter.

  ‘I was engaged,’ he said.

  ‘Ah,’ I said, and I actually bit my lower lip to stop myself from talking and asking embarrassing questions.

  Like Why are you telling me this? What am I supposed to do with this information?

  Obviously you wouldn’t expect a man of his age not to have had significant others. Or even a wife. He’s gorgeous, he’s intelligent, and as I now know bloody fantastic in bed. But I wanted to ask who, what happened, what was she like, did she go off with another man, or did you have an affair, where is she now?

  ‘Her name was Jessie. She was bright and very clever .’

  Ah Jessie. Yes he’d mentioned her. I remembered.

  But she ran off with the milkman?

  Had an affair with your father?

  Dumped you for her karate instructor?

  Was a hopeless alcoholic?

  ‘She was independent, feisty. She worked for a charity helping homeless kids.’

  Oh God, do a quick back-pedal.

  She’s a living saint, clever, compassionate. I bet she has legs up to her armpits and because-you’re-worth-it hair.

  I bet she’s never owned a pair of Spanx.

  ‘But six months after we got engaged – the night of my first book launch – she died.’

  Oh bloody hell! Bloody bloody hell! I wasn’t expecting that.

  ‘My God, what happened?’

  ‘She was at a conference in Thailand. There was a fire in the hotel. She was on the top floor. She couldn’t get out.’ His voice suddenly faded. ‘She couldn’t get out. She was trapped. The nightmares started then. Not about her, just a terrible feeling of panic, of being powerless.’

  I felt physically sick for a moment imagining it.

  ‘Oh Christ Almighty. I’m so sorry. Oh, Oliver, how awful. When did this happen?’

  ‘Nearly six years ago. It’s been a long six years. I didn’t think I would ever get over it.’