A Most Desirable Marriage

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A Most Desirable Marriage Page 15

by Hilary Boyd


  ‘I guess we oughta get undercover.’

  Chapter 11

  25 September 2013

  Travis passed his iPad across the kitchen table to Jo with a grin. The Independent’s review of the play – the first night had been yesterday – was displayed on the screen. It was respectful of the production over all, but a bit constrained in its praise, saying that the writing lacked ‘depth’. However, Travis had been singled out for his ‘vibrant’ performance.

  ‘Good, hey?’

  ‘Fantastic. I’m so pleased for you. Are there others?’

  ‘Yeah . . . a few so far. One said I was “worth watching”, another that mine and Nicky’s performances “outshone the dialogue” . . . all good for both of us.’

  ‘I’m glad he got a mention too.’

  Travis had been absorbed by the play in the days since their lunch by the river, the first night hanging over his head, obsessing him, making him distracted and tense. Jo had welcomed the time to herself. She found the courtship overwhelming. Part of her wished it would end there, with a few sweet kisses, those magical moments of sexual desire that had woken her out of her lethargy, brought her back to life. But that part of her barely had a foothold. Travis was taking up all her waking thoughts, despite her knowing it could never have a future. Did she honestly have the willpower to stop it before it went any further?

  And there was Cassie. It hadn’t gone well with Matt, as Jo had predicted. The day he’d visited, Jo had returned from the pub on her own to find her daughter lying sobbing on the sofa.

  ‘I don’t know what to do,’ she’d gasped out the words as soon as she saw her mother. ‘It was horrible.’

  ‘What was horrible? What did he say?’

  Cassie had dragged herself upright, blowing her nose and wiping her eyes with a wet, crumpled tissue clasped in her hand.

  ‘It wasn’t so much what he said, but he was so cold . . . so judgemental. Basically he expects me to snap out of it, get my priorities straight.’

  ‘Snap out of what?’

  ‘My princess behaviour? Apparently it’s the only thing holding me back from my destiny by his side.’

  ‘What did you say to that?’

  Cassie let out a long-suffering sigh. ‘I said I needed to know he still loves me. But Matt doesn’t talk about love very well. He sort of takes it for granted that we love each other. Thinks it’s childish that I have to keep asking.’

  ‘That’s not fair.’

  ‘Yeah, well, you’ve met his mother . . . touch of your Mommie Dearest. And maybe he’s right. Maybe I am a princess, a spoiled brat who’s missing out on the real world.’ She mumbled something that Jo didn’t catch and burst into tears again.

  ‘He wasn’t always like this was he?’ she asked, when Cassie had calmed down a bit. ‘That’s one of the things I liked about him, he really seemed to love you.’

  Her daughter gave her a wan smile. ‘Perhaps the only thing you liked about him.’

  ‘No . . . I mean Matt’s always been a bit . . . serious . . . but Dad and I never doubted he was a good man.’

  ‘Doesn’t mean I can stay married to him.’

  ‘So how did you leave it?’

  ‘It was a bit of an impasse. Neither of us would really admit we were at fault. But we were sort of making a go of pretending things’d work out until he realized I wasn’t coming home with him. Then he just stormed out.’

  ‘Oh, dear.’ Jo felt sympathy for her daughter, but she was despairing of the outcome. She didn’t feel she had the energy right now to deal with Cassie moping about the house all day. And selfishly she wanted the place to herself.

  ‘So what are you going to do next?’

  Cassie shrugged. ‘Get a job. Have some fun.’ She shot a glance at her mother. ‘Stay here for a bit . . . if that’s OK, Mum?’

  ‘I don’t think you can give up on Matt like this, darling. You told me you still love him.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Well, you can’t just throw in the towel after one row. Dad and I had millions of them over the years. You just have to work through it.’ Which was true, she and Lawrence had rowed. But the subjects had been petty, mostly the normal flashpoints between couples, such as use of money – Lawrence, the tight-wad, Jo, the spendthrift – childcare and whether one of them should have turned left or right at the last junction. They hadn’t even rowed about Arkadius.

  Cassie raised her eyebrows. ‘But Dad loved you, Mum. It was totally obvious, even if he didn’t say it much.’

  Jo just nodded. She hated Cassie’s use of the past tense.

  They both heard the front door open.

  ‘Hi. How’s it going?’

  Her daughter sat up straighter at the sound of Travis’s voice and brushed her rumpled hair back from her face.

  *

  ‘To be honest, darling, I’m sort of over all this prevarication,’ Donna commented, not lifting her head from the pot on the wheel. They were once again in her studio hut, early in the morning. Jo had fallen into a pattern of not being able to sleep. She would drop off, then wake around three and just lie there, her mind whirling with thoughts of Travis. This morning she had given up on sleep as soon as she saw the lights on in the hut. Donna’s face was already streaked with dried grey-white clay, like a Native American, her hair sticking up at all angles, her apron tied over tartan cotton pyjamas. ‘Why can’t you and Travis just come clean about your relationship?’

  ‘It’s not a relationship,’ Jo objected.

  Donna rolled her eyes. ‘Whatever. Look, neither of you is attached in any way. You’re not blood relatives. You don’t have an STD . . . as far as I know. So what’s the problem?’

  ‘I don’t know . . .’

  Donna waited for her to continue.

  ‘Don’t get annoyed, but his age I suppose. It’s embarrassing. I couldn’t bear Cassie or Nicky finding out. They’d be disgusted.’

  ‘He’s not twelve, for God’s sake.’

  ‘I know, but it’s so undignified. And hitting on such a gorgeous man – way out of my league.’

  ‘No point in hitting on a man who isn’t gorgeous, darling. And he’s hardly objecting, is he? In fact from what you say, he’s the keen bean.’

  Jo absentmindedly ran her finger along the wooden table, lifting the edge of the cotton duck cover. It wasn’t just Travis’s age that bothered her. It was something much more fundamental. Acknowledging her sexual feelings for the American cruelly reminded her of her own mother. Rampant and sexually indiscriminate throughout her marriage, Betty – Jo found out later in an excoriating denunciation by her father – had hit on anything that moved. As a child, Jo had been unaware of the cause of her parents’ continual fights. But as she reached teenage and began to notice the coy, flirtatious behaviour her mother exhibited towards the men who visited the house – from houseguests to Jo’s piano teacher to handymen or the gardener – the light dawned. It was the advent of the teenage boys from the correctional facility down the road, employed to help with the garden, which finally proved Betty’s undoing. Jo silently shuddered as she remembered that May morning. She’d never told anyone except Lawrence, not even Donna, what she’d found when she went out to take the Labrador, Duke, for a walk.

  ‘Now Cassie’s staying . . . there’s no chance we’ll be able to take it any further.’ She sighed, shaking off the past, her thoughts returning to Travis, the feel of his lips touching hers. Her body melted at the thought. ‘And maybe that’s for the best. Maybe he should hook up with her anyway. It’d be much more suitable.’

  ‘Suitable if he fancied her, which clearly he doesn’t.’

  ‘Not so sure. She’s such a beautiful girl.’

  ‘Sexual attraction isn’t to do with beauty though, is it? It’s to do with something indefinable . . . affinity . . . something.’

  Jo didn’t reply.

  ‘Can’t you get rid of Cassie for a couple of days? Send her off to stay with a friend or something?’

  ‘How? And
it’d probably be pointless . . . nothing’d necessarily happen.’

  Donna yanked the wheel to a stop and shook her head at Jo, her face breaking into an amused grin. ‘Listen darling, if you’ve already made up your mind that you can’t have him, then so be it. Give up. It may be your only chance to have hot sex with a totally stunning guy you clearly fancy the pants off . . . but hey, your choice.’

  Jo smiled back. ‘OK, get the message.’

  ‘Obviously it’s safer to sink into dignified old age. Obviously. But you may never meet someone you’re this attracted to again. Think of hens’ teeth . . . rare as . . .’

  ‘And the children?’

  ‘Why don’t you just bonk him and worry about the consequences later? That’s what Lawrence did and they’re still speaking to him.’

  *

  The Shepherd’s Bush house settled into a strange sort of rhythm. Ignoring Donna’s advice, Jo avoided Travis as much as possible. And if she did see him, made stalwart efforts to restrain herself from flirting, because she couldn’t deal with her own insecurity. He had his play to concentrate on, she reasoned, and she should be working too, making a proper start on the book.

  Cassie was all over the place, crying hysterically at times, quietly manic at others as she made too many cupcakes or sanded every inch of rust off the garden table. She might stay out late with friends or sit morosely in front of a weepy rom-com nursing a glass of wine. But whatever she was doing, Jo couldn’t get through to her. At every attempt to discuss how Cassie was feeling, to find out what her plan was, she came up against a brick wall:

  ‘I’ll sort it, Mum. I will, promise.’

  Instead her daughter poured out her heart to Travis whenever she got the chance. Jo would find them together at the kitchen table, heads bent close, Cassie in full flow about Matt and the iniquities of a sustainable life in Devon.

  Jo cringed as she watched her daughter’s wide grey eyes become translucent with impending tears, Travis’s face a mask of concern. With every passing day she steeled herself, forced her feelings for the actor deeper inside, burying them beneath a practised rationality which had saved her in the past: It was over. It had been sweet while it lasted. She was a fool.

  One Saturday night, Cassie was out at a concert with some of her old college friends. She knew Travis wouldn’t be back until late – Saturday being the night when he and Nicky and other friends who’d come to see the play would go drinking. Jo sat reading on the sofa. She must have dropped off momentarily, because the next thing she was aware of was Travis delivering a light kiss to her mouth. She hadn’t heard him come in.

  Shaking herself, her heart jerking into a frantic rhythm, she looked up into his face as he leaned across the sofa back, his broad shoulders straining the washed out navy T-shirt. He had an uncertain expression on his face.

  ‘Hey,’ he said softly, his eyebrows raised in question. He came round and sat down beside her, gave her a quizzical look.

  ‘So is it over . . . you and me? Kinda got the impression you’d backed off this last week or so.’

  Jo found she was tense, having him so close.

  ‘I suppose . . .’

  He waited, his brown eyes unwavering. ‘It’s OK if—’

  ‘No. No, it’s true I’ve backed off. But not because my feelings have changed.’ She paused. ‘I thought, you’ve got the play . . . and Cassie being around . . .’

  He looked puzzled. ‘So you and me are good?’

  Didn’t he understand? she asked herself. He spoke as if their relationship were completely straightforward: you liked someone. Your feelings were reciprocated. End of.

  ‘I just find it impossible, living on the edge, seeing you every day, not being able to . . . you know . . . be with you . . . be open about what’s happening because of Cassie and Nicky.’ The words stumbled over each other in her desire to explain. ‘We never have time alone and we’re not likely to and it’s driving me mad. But even if we did, we’d always be looking over our shoulder in case they find out.’

  Travis, as soon as she paused to draw breath, began to laugh.

  ‘Awesome . . . you’re awesome. All this churning around in your head and you don’t say zip to me? What’s that about?’

  Jo was baffled at his laughter. ‘I didn’t know how to say it.’

  ‘So it’s not an “I’m-just-not-into-a-relationship-right-now” moment?’

  She could tell he was teasing and she smiled.

  ‘OK, OK . . . this isn’t easy for me, you know,’ she said. ‘You’re all Californian about stuff . . . all “whatever” . . . but me, I’m old-style British with my feelings.’

  He didn’t answer. He just pulled her into his arms and held her tight against him until she gave in and relaxed in his embrace, her head tucked into the crook of his neck.

  ‘I find you incredibly attractive,’ she heard him say. ‘And we are sort of alone . . .’

  Jo caught her breath, swallowing hard.

  ‘We can’t . . . Cassie might come home any minute.’

  Travis shrugged, playing with a strand of her hair. ‘The gig’s at the O2. Finishes around ten thirty, then she’ll hang out, have some beers, the journey home’ll take for ever. Midnight, earliest . . . which leaves us . . .’ he checked his phone, ‘An hour and a half.’ It was as if he’d worked it all out in advance.

  He was already off the sofa, pulling her to her feet, his eyes suddenly shining and full of desire. ‘It’s now or never.’

  The limited time slot drove them on. Without another word, they ran, light-footed, hand-in-hand upstairs. Her room, the bed, so exclusively the domain of her marriage to Lawrence – she still slept on ‘her’ side – looked different tonight. The coloured quilt, the pure white duvet and pillows appeared almost anonymous to Jo, just the perfect haven for their thwarted desire. And he gave her no chance to worry about her body, whether her breasts were firm enough, her skin soft enough.

  ‘Let me,’ Travis said, staying her hands as she began to undress, his fingers fumbling with the buttons on her shirt in his haste. Carried away on a wave of desire, every cell in her body aching for his touch, she let him. Then panic swept in. Revealing her body to him, surely then he would reject her, see her finally for what she was: an old woman.

  She pushed his hands away, stood solid and shaking, almost in tears she wanted him so much, but at the same time felt she couldn’t possibly deserve him. Travis gave her a quizzical look, then pulled her to him, still clothed, his embrace so tender that the tears did well in her eyes.

  ‘You do want this, don’t you?’ he whispered. ‘Say if you don’t.’

  She couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. But, as Travis began to drop urgent kisses on her mouth, his breath ragged, his body wired as it pressed hard against her own, she forgot that she was old, forgot that she was scared. All that existed was her need. And when finally she stood naked before him, she felt no shame at all, just an overwhelming elation, an intoxicating sexual power.

  *

  ‘God . . .’ she heard him expel a long, slow breath as he lay on his back, naked beside her. ‘That was awesome.’

  She wanted to laugh, to sing, the pleasure bubbling up inside her.

  ‘Wasn’t it,’ she whispered, ‘Just perfect.’ Although at first their bodies had been awkward together, bumping limbs, eager but clumsy like teenagers in a car. But their desire quickly made the mechanics irrelevant as they found in each other matching heights of sexuality and passion.

  ‘I thought it’d never happen,’ he said.

  She rolled on to her side to look at him. His body was breathtaking: lean and muscled and golden, a tan line marking out the lower, paler part of his stomach where his swimming costume must have been over the summer. Just looking at him aroused her again, she wanted to caress every inch of his skin, but she was once again self-conscious of her own less than perfect figure, reaching for the duvet and quickly pulling it over herself. He seemed not to notice her discomfort, laying his palm against her c
heek so lovingly, smiling into her face. She closed her eyes for a second, revelling in his warm touch.

  ‘I should probably go,’ he whispered, glancing over her shoulder at the bedside clock. ‘It’s almost twelve and we don’t want to turn into pumpkins.’ He bent down and kissed her lightly on the lips, his expression breaking into a satisfied grin. ‘Can’t trust a guy to stick around once he’s had his evil way.’ He leaped out of bed, gathering up his scattered jeans, T-shirt and boxers from the floor as he went.

  She lay there after he’d gone, dizzy from their lovemaking. Compared to what had become of her sexual relations with Lawrence over the past year, it had been explosive. But you can’t compare, she cautioned herself, remembering lazier but no less sensually satisfying moments with her husband over the years.

  Now her body resonated with Travis’s caresses. She felt he was still by her side as she snuggled down under the duvet and closed her eyes, the final release of her desire leaving her limbs light and insubstantial, her head giddy.

  Minutes later, she heard the front door closing, her daughter’s tiptoed step on the stairs and along the corridor to the bathroom. She reached over and clicked off the bedside light, holding her breath in the dark at the close call, anxious not to have to confront her and pretend all was normal. As she did so she heard Cassie whisper outside her door, ‘Night, Mum.’

  ‘Night, darling,’ Jo replied.

  *

  ‘Penny for ’em . . . you were miles away.’ Cassie took the coffee jug from the table and poured herself a cup.

  Jo, clutching her own mug, came to guiltily. She’d been replaying the lovemaking as she sat at the kitchen table the next morning – she almost couldn’t believe what had happened – and wondering if this was how Lawrence felt about Arkadius. Wondering, if the boot had been on the other foot, would she have left Lawrence for Travis? But however much she yearned to gaze on his face, to touch his cheek, to make love to him right now, she knew she wouldn’t even have looked at Travis if she and Lawrence had still been together. Well, she thought, repressing a small smile, I might have looked . . .

 

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