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

by Sheryl Browne

  ‘Pick up, or not?’ Mark asked.

  ‘Not,’ Donna assured him, nestling further under his arm, one finger caressing the poor battle-scars on his chest, a broken-glass wound, he’d said. One of several scars sustained in the line of duty, and which he’d much rather have suffered the agony of than giving birth.

  Mark pulled her to him, kissed her sweetly, then yanked her on top of him. Smiling mischievously, he trailed his hands the length of her back, his fingers tenderly tracing her ‘battle-scars’ before retracing their steps skin-tinglingly up her spine, softly to her shoulders, to her hair, his lips finding hers, kissing her tenderly, stopping.

  ‘Shoot.’ He laughed as Simon said, ‘Just wondered if you were doing anything special, sweetie, only Nathan and I wanted to pop over with our colour swatches for the lounge. We thought Tibetan Gold with Sunrise, what do you think?’

  Donna rolled off Mark and snatched up the bedside phone. ‘I think red, Simon. That way they won’t see the evidence when I murder you if you ring one more time.’

  Donna’s lips had barely found their way back to Mark’s when, Triiinnng, Triiinnng.

  ‘Hi, hon, me again,’ said Alicia, ‘So how was it? Good? Bad? Worth waiting for?’

  Donna’s eyes shot wide. She plucked up the phone. ‘Ten,’ she said shortly, beamed Mark a smile and plopped it back down.

  Finally, lips re-poised for a little nibble of Mark’s, Donna closed her eyes in sweet anticipation — then flopped her head onto his chest as the phone rang again.

  ‘Hello, my little blushing soon-to-be bride,’ said Evelyn.

  Donna groaned and stuffed her head under the duvet.

  ‘Just to let you know Karl’s fine,’ Evelyn went on breezily. ‘He and Starbuck are chasing Robert around the garden wearing Indian feathers. Robert, that is, you’ll be utterly surprised to hear. Now then, Donna, I know you’ll probably have ideas of your own, but indulge me. My Muumuu is to die for…’

  Mark peered under the duvet to swap astonished glances with Donna.

  ‘Designer, of course. Vintage, pleated, quite short, but then, if you’ve got it… Your legs are your assets, darling, and it will hide any other little, um… Shall we say, lumps or bumps you might have? It’s perfect for a late autumn wedding.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Donna balked, ‘I can’t. Please, please, someone save me from my mother’s idea of the perfect wedding dress.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Mark mused, lying back on the pillow, hands behind his head. ‘Could look pretty cool with the go-go boots.’

  ‘Ye-es,’ Donna slithered up, plonking herself heavily on top of him, ‘and I’m sure Simon will think you look darling in them.’

  ‘With stockings, I think,’ Evelyn elaborated, ‘rather than tights. I suspect Mark’s more of a suspenders man.’

  ‘I am?’

  Donna almost died as Mark’s eyes shot wide.

  ‘Oh, no, no, nooooo,’ she groaned, sliding so fast back down the duvet she almost skinned him.

  Mark joined her, muffling out Evelyn’s further elaborations on how men prefer some things left to the imagination in the lingerie department. ‘Do you think if we stay cuddled up under the duvet we could make the world go away?’ he whispered, obviously aware of Donna’s absolute mortification.

  Donna’s ears pricked up. She blinked up at him, her heart soaring so high her little butterfly took flight. She had found him. Her soulmate. A likeminded most sensitive lover, who she could happily stay safe and content in the arms of forever.

  Mark laughed, and brushed his lips across the tip of her nose. ‘Actually, I prefer you like this,’ he said, ‘beautiful, wearing nothing but a smile.’

  Evelyn kept talking, but Mark managed to distract Donna from the detail.