Somebody to Love: Sigh With Contentment, Scream With Frustration. At Time You Will Weep.

by Sheryl Browne

  Wasn’t going to make it easy, was he? Mark took a breath. So where did he start? How did he explain his own insecurities had had him screwing things up without sounding lame?

  ‘I have a son, too, Matt,’ he started, deciding honesty was the best policy. ‘His name’s Karl. He’s autistic. I didn’t tell Donna… your mum… up-front, because I was frightened of scaring her away. I didn’t give her a chance. My mistake. Big mistake. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Matt.

  Mark smiled. Obviously the ‘oh’ ran in the family.

  ‘So how old is he?’

  ‘Six. Donna has met him now, incidentally. Today, actually. I’m not sure whether she told you, but… Well, let’s just say she worked a small miracle. She’s a pretty special person, you know?’

  ‘Yes, I do know, as it happens,’ Matt informed him flatly. ‘And the neck accessory?’ he enquired, obviously referring to Michelle.

  ‘A friend. Just a friend. I didn’t sleep with her, Matt,’ Mark assured him quickly, realising that Matt was mature enough for details, and wasn’t about to be fobbed off with anything less. ‘I might have. Intended to, to be honest. I thought it was over with Donna. I’m hoping to God it isn’t. That somehow, I can fix things.’

  Mark stopped. That was it. His cards were on the table. Now, as backward as it seemed, it was up to Matt. ‘What do you think?’ he asked hesitantly.

  ‘I think you should try carrying flowers next time you run into her, rather than a female,’ Matt suggested, with due sarcasm.

  ‘Good idea.’ Mark conceded.

  ‘I’ll be back about eleven-thirty, just in case you should run into her tonight.’

  ‘Er, right,’ Mark got the drift, possibly. ‘Thanks, Matt.’

  Mark signed off feeling as if he should have said, thanks Mr O’Connor. He smiled, knowing he could be feeling a lot worse.

  ****

  ‘Bye, Mum,’ Matt called when Donna turned off her hairdryer. ‘We’re off to…’

  ‘Have fun,’ Donna called back, rummaging in her wardrobe for something to wear between the barely-there sixties dress she’d picked up at the charity shop, and go-go boots, other than goose-pimples.

  ‘… North America.’

  ‘Okey-dokey,’ Donna trilled, preoccupied. Aha! She seized on a pair of hold-ups in the absence of tights. But would they look right? Fishnets didn’t go with microdot mini-dresses, did they?

  ‘… in search of Bigfoot,’ Matt went on, drolly.

  ‘Well, don’t be too late. You have your Saturday job tomorrow, remember?’ Donna reminded him, deciding she’d just have to try the whole ridiculous fancy-dress ensemble on.

  ‘Yes, Mother. I’ll bring us a bear home for supper.’

  Oh, whoops. He must be as hungry as one. Donna skidded to the landing. ‘Sorry, I was just trying my fishnets on. There’s money for food on the cupboard.’ She leaned over the banister and beamed him a smile.

  Matt shook his head. ‘Bye, Mother. Don’t get doing anything I wouldn’t.’

  Chance would be a fine thing. Donna sighed, and skidded back.

  God, the dress was miniscule — she held it up to her — to the point of obscene. She had another sigh and wriggled into what might better suit a Sindy doll, then tugged a go-go boot onto one leg, a fishnet onto the other for comparison, and surveyed herself in the mirror.

  Hmm? Not quite the luv-in sixties-hippie-chick look she’d been aiming for. She’d be ‘pulled in’ if she went out in public in this little lot.

  Damn! The doorbell. Perfect timing as per… Donna peg-legged to the landing, guessing who it was, but trying to get a peek through the glass nevertheless, lest it be a salesman, who would probably have apoplexy and die on the doorstep.

  Donna squinted, then crouched and squinted some more; then almost fell face-first down the stairs when the letterbox flapped and a pair of eyes peered back.

  ‘Cooee, only me,’ Simon called. ‘Hurry up, Dons. It’s raining cats and dogs.’

  ‘Coming.’ Donna dashed on down, lest poor Simon end up dead from pneumonia on top of his poor stitched head.

  ‘Ooh!’ Simon exclaimed when Donna opened the door to the only man in the universe she was about to let see her dressed… or rather… undressed, as she was. ‘I didn’t realise we were doing tarts and vicars.’

  ‘Is it really that bad?’ Donna asked gloomily, holding the door wide to allow a dripping wet, sou’westered Simon inside.

  ‘Bad?’ Simon turned to look her up and down as she closed the door. ‘Sweetie, all I can say is I’m glad Nathan’s gay.’

  Donna knitted her brow. ‘Oh,’ she said, her mouth curving into a small smile as she realised Simon had just paid her a compliment.

  ‘It’s knockout,’ Simon assured her, swishing up the hall and dripping all over the floor. ‘You’ll have single men drooling into their drinks. That’s assuming you’re not back together with your yummy policeman?’

  Simon looked at her, a touch hopefully.

  ‘No.’ Donna tried not to look too miserable. ‘I’m not sure we were ever together, to be honest. Come on, upstairs. You can tell me whether it’s better with stockings off or on.’

  ‘Now there’s an offer a man can’t refuse.’ Simon made eyes at Sadie, then scooted after Donna. ‘I promise I’ll be quick.’

  ‘How very disappointing,’ Donna laughed.

  ‘Like a fireman down a greased pole.’

  ‘You’re going as a policeman, Simon, remember?’ Donna showed him into the bedroom, then went to the bathroom to try to work out how she was going to wear flowers in her hair when she couldn’t get them to stay there.

  ‘So, you didn’t actually get it together in the bedroom department, then?’ Simon enquired casually, from Donna’s bedroom.

  ‘No,’ Donna confessed. ‘I mean we kissed… a bit.’ She trailed a finger over her lips, wishing Mark had been a terrible kisser, wishing he hadn’t done terrible things to her when he had kissed her.

  ‘Honestly, Donna, why not?’ Simon asked the inevitable question. ‘Admittedly I didn’t see much of him with half my body’s blood supply dripping into my eyes but…’ He paused. ‘Stop it, Donna.’

  ‘Stop what?’ Donna asked, knowing full well what Simon meant.

  ‘Feeling guilty. I know what you’re like, Donna O’Connor, and it was not your fault. That twit you were married to is such a Neanderthal he ought to exhibited in the Natural History Museum, preferably stuffed. I just hope he gets his comeuppance.’

  Which he will, with luck, Donna thought; if Leticia dumps him from a great height, which, hopefully, she will.

  ‘Anyway, as I was saying,’ Simon went on, ‘from what I could see of your policeman friend, he looked a bit of a dish. I tell you what, I wouldn’t turn him down.’

  ‘Simon!’

  ‘I meant if I was you, obviously. I’m spoken for, if you recall. Come on then, I’m ready. Come and tell me whether I could ever hope to measure up.’

  Simon did a little twirl when Donna went into the bedroom. ‘Whadya think? It’s me, isn’t it?’ He flicked his hair theatrically and turned his good side to the light.

  ‘Very.’ Donna laughed. He did cut quite a figure actually. Mark’s jacket fitted him well. ‘Nathan will think it’s his birthday and Christmas all rolled into one.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’ Simon beamed, and turned to admire himself in the mirror.

  ‘Absolutely,’ nodded Donna enthusiastically, and lost her flower.

  ‘You, too,’ Simon offered, with a reassuring smile. ‘But I don’t think you’re supposed to wear your flower there, sweetie.’

  ‘I know.’ Donna tucked it a bit further down her cleavage, for safekeeping. ‘I’m obviously not the bells-on-toes and flowers-in-the-hair sort. I’ll have to get a headband, or stitch it to my scalp.’

  ‘Ouch,’ they both said together.

  ‘Sorry, Simon. Does it hurt much?’

  ‘Only when I laugh,’ Simon assured her. ‘Oh, do stop wo
rrying, Donna. I’m fine, honestly, thanks to your policeman friend. So are you going to tell me what happened between you two then, or are you going to keep me in suspenders? Talking of which, you’ll need another stocking to hitch to yours. You’re looking a bit lopsided.’

  Simon nodded at her one hold-up, which wasn’t holding up very well, then perched himself on the dressing table chair, his face expectant.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Donna hitched up her fishnet and plopped herself down on the bed. ‘We were getting along fine, I think. Then I told him I didn’t want complications, and it all got… complicated.’

  ‘You’re vulnerable, sweetie. You’ve been hurt and you don’t want to be hurt again, I can understand that. So?’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So is that why you didn’t do the deed?

  Donna looked at him, puzzled.

  ‘On the basis of “you don’t give all of yourself, you don’t get hurt”; am I close?’

  Donna sighed. ‘Very,’ she admitted. ‘Except I do.’

  ‘Except you do.’ Simon shook his head sadly.

  Donna shifted uncomfortably. ‘I did try,’ she admitted. ‘You know, to give him my all.’

  Simon arched an eyebrow.

  ‘I made a mess of it.’ Donna shrugged and blushed down to her squashed petals. ‘I think I’m a bit…’

  ‘Lacking in confidence after that little turd, Jeremy?’

  ‘Yes.’ Donna’s blush turned to a hot flush. ‘I practically raped him.’

  ‘Pardon?’ Simon sat to attention.

  ‘No not… I just, sort of threw myself at him,’ Donna tried to explain. ‘Gave him the green light, you know, and then when he, um…’

  ‘Revved his engine?’

  ‘Simon, don’t,’ said Donna, feeling embarrassed more for Mark than for herself. ‘Mark was really gentlemanly about it, but… do you think he… You know?’

  ‘What? Lost interest?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ Donna nodded, not sure she really thought he had, not then. He’d rung so many times. But then, he wasn’t ringing now, was he? ‘You don’t think he’s one of those thrill of the chase sorts? And he suddenly realised it wasn’t worth the effort and went off in search of more willing fish?’ Donna fished.

  ‘Donna, now you’re being paranoid. You’re measuring yourself by that dreadful ex’s opinion of you. So don’t. I’m willing to bet your boy-in-blue’s opinion would count for a whole lot more.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose.’ She was being paranoid. Of course she was. Looking for reasons to blame herself, again. Reasons for him to be able to justify Jody-kiss-kiss and silken-haired Sally, who were obviously on the scene well before her. And what about the woman practically digesting Mark whole in the restaurant?

  ‘Ring him,’ Simon suggested. ‘Ask him.’

  ‘I would. I might, but…’ Donna chewed on her lip. ‘He was supposed to be ringing me. Tonight. Just to talk, you know?’

  ‘Ah, so you don’t want to ring him, in case he doesn’t want to be rung and you’d end up looking the fool.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Donna sighed, and peeled off her one hold-up in favour of the other go-go boot. Fishnets, she decided, suited her about as much as they did fish. She’d have time enough to shop for something that looked less trollopy tomorrow.

  ‘I see,’ said Simon. ‘Um, Donna, just out of interest, you don’t think your boy-in-blue might come around in person, rather than ring?’

  Donna shook her head. ‘No, I shouldn’t think so. He wouldn’t know whether Matt was in, and he’d realise it might be a bit awkward. He was good like that.’

  ‘Right. So, just supposing he did,’ Simon shot off the chair, ‘he wouldn’t have a nervous habit of any sort, would he?’

  Donna stopped ferreting for her flower and looked at Simon.

  Simon was looking out of the window. ‘Such as running a hand through his hair, perchance?’

  Donna’s eyes grew wide.

  ‘Sh… ugar!’ They gulped in unison as the doorbell rang.

  ‘Oh, my God! Simon! You have his uniform on, and I have…’ Donna glanced down at her state of no-dress. ‘Eeeuuw, what do I do?!’

  ‘Don’t panic!’ Simon promptly panicked, heading fast for the stairs.

  ‘Noooo, not that way!’ Donna threw herself across the room, ready to rugby-tackle him to the floor. ‘He’ll see you going down.’

  Simon turned heel. ‘Where then? I know, the bathroom’

  ‘No! The bathroom door’s opposite the stairs. Your legs look nothing like mine.’

  They both had a quick appraisal of legs and unanimously agreed.

  ‘Well, where else?’ Simon looked definitely panicky now. ‘Ooh, do hurry up, Donna. I don’t have much more blood left to give.’

  ‘Matt’s room.’ Donna headed for Matt’s door.

  ‘Good idea.’ Simon rolled his eyes. ‘I’ll give Matt a wave from under the duvet, shall I, if he comes home while lover-boy’s here?’

  Hell! He was right. Donna propelled Simon back towards her bedroom. Matt would not be impressed if he came back to find Simon in his bed wearing Mark’s spare uniform.

  Simon dug his heels in. ‘Donna, I don’t want to appear awkward,’ he said, practically clinging to the doorframe, ‘but I’m thinking if you kiss and make up, your bedroom is the one place he’s bound to want to use. Oui?’

  ‘Simon, we won’t. He won’t… For goodness sake,’ Donna gave him a shove, ‘Simon, get in.’

  ‘But can’t you just explain?’ Simon suggested. ‘I mean, it’s all perfectly innocent, isn’t —’

  ‘Explain? Innocent?’ Donna gawked. Whatever Mark and she were, or weren’t, she didn’t want him to see her like this. She’d be a fine one demanding explanations, wouldn’t she? ‘Simon, we’re both in a state of inappropriate undress. Upstairs. Together! What do you suggest I tell him?’

  ‘That we were trying fancy dress on.’ Simon tried hopefully.

  Donna folded her arms, and looked the length and breadth of him. It didn’t really help, she felt not inclined to point out, that his fly was undone and his shirttails were hanging out.

  Simon looked Donna up and down, taking in her knicker-skimming no-dress. ‘Not very convincing, really, is it? I’ll hide in the wardrobe.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Donna raced back to the stairs, tugged down her dress, then sauntered — as nonchalantly as one could in white boots and a dress that screamed red light — downstairs. This was awful. He was the one who’d been up to no good. So why did she feel like a nun caught out in public in French knickers?

  Right, shoulders up, head high and keep calm. He probably won’t even notice. She searched for her inner poise, pulled open the door, then almost closed it in his face when Mark’s eyes shot to her thighs.

  ‘Donna,’ he said, his expression mildly perplexed. ‘I, er… How are you?’

  ‘Up here,’ Donna suggested.

  ‘Oh, right.’ Mark averted his gaze. ‘Sorry,’ he said, trying to keep his eyes at an appropriate level, only for them to slide slowly back down.

  Coming to rest on the flat petals peering not very provocatively from her cleavage, Donna realised, her poise wilting somewhat.

  ‘Interesting… broach?’ Mark speculated.

  ‘It’s for my hair,’ Donna said quickly, lest he think she always used her breasts as a flower press. ‘But it wouldn’t stay there.’

  ‘Would you like to come in?’ she asked, as Mark looked as if he was about to stay there, taking in the view.

  ‘Yes, if that’s okay. Thanks.’ Mark stepped in, with a puzzled little shake of his head.

  ‘You said you were going to ring,’ Donna pointed out, as she closed the door.

  ‘I was but, I, er… Is this an inconvenient time, Donna? Because if it is, I…’

  ‘No, no,’ Donna assured him. ‘Not at all. I was just getting ready for bed, that’s all, and I, um… Ahem.’

  Donna smiled weakly as Mark looked her up and down bemusedly.

/>   ‘I just thought I’d try on my fancy dress,’ Donna went on, improvising madly, as she lead the way up the hall. ‘You know before I put my jim-jams on after my bath.’ She pointed the way to the lounge.

  ‘Like you do.’ Mark cocked his head to one side, had another little perusal of her aspiring tart’s apparel, and his mouth curved into an amused smile.

  Thank God. Donna’s poise had all but gone-gone. She relaxed a little, much preferring to see Mark smile than look as heartbreakingly sad as he did last time she saw him. ‘Can I get you some tea?’ Donna offered him a small smile back. ‘Coffee?’ Ear plugs?

  Donna smiled slipped as something clunked, then scraped up above, causing Mark’s eyes to dart towards the stairs.

  Hell! ‘Sadie, sweetheart?’ Donna called, sounding slightly demented. ‘Where are y… Ooh! There you are.’ Her eyes went into blink overdrive as a wet nose nuzzled the back of her thighs.

  ‘Damn. It must be the vase falling off the shelf in the bedroom, again. The blind hits it,’ Donna explained, squeezing past an ever more-bemused Mark. ‘You know, when the, um, wind blows through the, er… Won’t be a tic.’

  She took the first four steps of the stairs at a run, then stopped, her cheeks flushing furiously as she realised her cheeks below might possibly be on show.

  ‘Do you want to go on in?’ She turned her posterior strategically to the wall and nodded towards the lounge. ‘I’ll just go and, um…’ strangle Simon.

  Mark looked on bewildered as Donna thumped on up, her hands plastered to her bum.

  She really was crackers. He shook his head again as he went into the lounge. Crackers in the nicest possible way though, and he couldn’t help but love her for…

  Love her. It didn’t hit him like a thunderbolt. That had happened the first time they’d touched. He’d felt it shake him to the core. As did the high-voltage jolt when their eyes locked. When he saw the vulnerability in hers. The obvious caring, though it was plain from outset she’d had been scared of caring too much.

  When their lips met, he’d been lost. Truly lost. Because, though he hadn’t acknowledged it then, he knew he was in grave danger of caring too much. Of falling too hard, too soon, when he quite simply couldn’t afford to.