A Twist of Fate

by Demelza Hart

  He raised his own glass. ‘To survival, Callie.’

  I returned his gesture and took a sip. The cool liquid sent a shimmer of recollection through me and my eyes glazed as I stared beyond him. ‘Weird, isn’t it? Survival seems much harder back here than it did on the island.’

  I could feel his steady gaze on me, but he said nothing, allowing me to continue. ‘I mean, it was so simple there, so easy. Just you and me. Here, it’s been …’ I sighed. ‘I don’t know … hectic.’

  ‘Don’t let yourself get too involved.’

  ‘But I don’t seem to be able to avoid it. You’re the only one who steadies me.’

  He stroked my face and took hold of a lock of my hair, twirling it in his fingers.

  ‘Is that right?’ I asked. ‘Am I just escaping again? Maybe that’s it – I can’t face life. I can’t face reality.’

  ‘Is that’s what’s bothered you about us? You think I’m some sort of escape?’

  ‘Not you … us, maybe, the idea of us.’

  Paul pursed his lips. ‘Christ, Callie, I just got you here and you’re doubting it all again.’

  I looked up at him, giving him the full reassuring openness of my eyes. ‘Not doubting, just wondering, trying to make sense of it all. All I know is that I feel better when I’m with you than with anyone else. On the island, in front of an audience of millions, here, in private. Anywhere. You ground me. That can’t be an escape, can it? That’s essential, not a fantasy.’

  He averted his eyes. Had I said too much? I’d gone from telling him I wanted nothing to do with him to telling him I couldn’t live without him in the space of a couple of days. Shit, I’d scare him off.

  ‘Sorry,’ I muttered, dropping my head.

  ‘Sorry what?’

  ‘I’ve said too much. I just … it’s all been so …’

  ‘Weird?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He smirked, and I was grateful for it. Paul pulled me into him and I was immediately rocked against his hard body. I could hold onto it forever. ‘You can say what you want, Callie, as long as you’re honest with yourself. That’s all I ask. You know I want you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Why me? Don’t I drive you mad?’

  He took my head and laughed. ‘You wouldn’t be here if you drove me mad, you silly cow.’

  I wrinkled my nose. ‘You just called me a silly cow.’

  ‘That you are at times.’

  My stomach rumbled loudly. ‘Mad and hungry, it seems.’

  ‘Come here, sit down. Pasta’s just about ready.’ He stepped away to the kitchen area after pulling out a chair for me at the dining table.

  Paul served up two bowls of pasta in a tomato and bacon sauce. ‘Hope you like it,’ he declared with a raised eyebrow, unsure of his own cooking.

  I took a mouthful. It was rich and satisfying, clearly made from scratch. ‘Very good. I’m impressed.’

  ‘Good, because you’ll be getting a lot of it. Can’t cook much else.’

  I laughed. ‘If you can cook this, you can cook other things.’

  ‘Never have much time. I’m normally travelling or eating in hotels.’

  We ate on quietly for a time, but the silences were content, always a sign of compatibility. If you can be silent in someone’s company comfortably, then things are good.

  ‘How did your father react to what happened?’ I asked at length.

  ‘He were good. He never knew I was on the flight to start with, so the first he heard was, ‘Your son’s safe,’ and he said, ‘Aye, I know.’ They told him the whole story and I don’t think he had time to take it in before he were whisked off to Brize Norton.’

  ‘He looks like a very nice person.’

  ‘He is, but he’s a product of his generation and circumstance. Heart of gold, but encased in steel. Takes a lot to get through that sometimes.’

  ‘I imagine you can.’

  A slight blush caught his cheeks.

  ‘Have you got any siblings?’ I continued.

  ‘No. My mum got ill before they could have any more. How about you?’

  ‘A brother. He’s at Sandhurst, actually.’

  ‘Oh aye? You never mentioned that before.’

  ‘I don’t know. I suppose I thought you’d give me stick about toffee-nosed officers and all that.’

  He grinned wryly. ‘How do you know I wasn’t an officer?’

  I looked up with sudden guilt. I’d assumed he hadn’t taken a commission, but what if he had? The look on my face must have been transparent because Paul chuckled and dug at his pasta. ‘I thought about it. Nearly did. They said I was ‘perfect officer material’. Was recommended by my CO and all, but … nah. Not for me. I did all right in the ranks, though. I were a sergeant when –’

  ‘When what?’

  ‘When I left.’

  His head was down, concentrating on his food. I suspected his time in the army – certainly in the SAS – had been a difficult one. I didn’t press him further.

  ‘Did you always want to be a teacher?’ he asked, levelling the conversation easily.

  ‘Not really. Didn’t think I’d stick it for long, but I ended up at a lovely school with lovely kids. I’ve found, surprisingly perhaps, that I really love it.’

  ‘A lot depends on who you work with.’

  ‘Exactly. And I work with energetic, interesting young people. I’m not professing to changing the world, but it beats going into an office every day and being met with the same gloomy faces and dreary tasks. Even if my kids aren’t all passionate experts on the Peasants’ Revolt, they make me laugh and smile, and they work hard because they want to please themselves and me. Sometimes I have to pinch myself that I actually get paid for it.’

  He was looking at me with a smile on his face. It made me blush. ‘Sorry,’ I muttered. ‘Rabbiting on.’

  ‘Promise you’ll never stop.’

  I smiled back. ‘Thanks for the food. I really enjoyed it.’

  ‘No pudding, I’m afraid. You had enough?’

  ‘Hm-mm.’

  ‘Good, because now,’ He pushed back his chair and came to lean over me. ‘I can take you to bed and make love to you, Callie Frobisher.’ He stressed “make love” with a wicked grin, adding a Barry White drawl to his words.

  He leant in for a kiss but I drew away, denying him. ‘Are you taking the piss, Mr Mason?’

  ‘No, just enjoying your way with words.’

  ‘That’s what it’s called.’

  ‘Not everyone calls it that,’ he grinned.

  ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘Depends.’

  ‘On what?’

  ‘Not on what, on who.’

  ‘On whom,’ I corrected.

  He gave me a light-hearted frown. ‘Thought you taught history, not English.’

  I smirked. ‘Don’t worry. I love your way with words too.’ I gave him my kiss and stood up to meet him. I wound myself around him and was guided back through the house as we shed clothes. By the time we reached the bedroom, we were practically naked.

  This time we managed to pull back the covers and get into the bed properly.

  ‘Haven’t spent nearly enough time on these,’ mumbled Paul, before cupping my right breast and taking the nipple in his mouth.

  I hadn’t complained, but as his tongue swirled around the ever-tightening bud, and his hands pushed out the soft flesh so that it rose to a peak of tender expectation, I only murmured in agreement.

  ‘God, you’ve got tits to die for,’ he slurred, moving onto the left. He sucked hard, tugging on the nipple, tweaking it gently in his teeth. I moaned for more.

  He lay against me, his hard-on pressing into my side, leaking his own need onto my skin, but he didn’t rush. Paul nuzzled, licked, and sucked until my desire, always present when I was near him or even thought of him, reared up and I begged for him to come into me. I must have whined out loud.

  ‘Eh, Cal, what’s that?’ he asked with a deep
teasing lilt.

  ‘Want you inside me.’

  ‘Want me to do what?’

  He pressed one finger up into me, teasing me with a hint of more. I pushed onto it, desperate for more. ‘Oh God, you know what.’

  ‘Say it.’

  ‘Fuck me! I want you to fuck me!’

  ‘Thought we were making love,’ he teased.

  ‘We are! But …!’ I bucked and tugged at his muscled arms, trying to pull him over me. ‘Just fuck me now!’

  With a chuckle, he drew himself up. Before I knew it, I’d been grabbed and turned over onto my front. ‘Oh!’ I exclaimed in shock. He took hold of my hips and pulled me up onto my knees.

  ‘Anything you say, Cal.’

  And with a sudden implosion of sensation, I was full. He was inside me.

  Oh fuck oh fuck, I loved it. Taking this man gave me such a sense of completion I felt as if I’d been waiting all my life. I groaned and the pressures of my past floated out with the sound.

  ‘Slow and steady wins the race,’ he said, and began to move in me accordingly, never quite withdrawing enough to fall out, but eking it out so slowly that he had me almost begging for more. But it was glorious just as it was. We could do this forever, the slowest, most indulgent fuck, a languid duet of push and pull, fill and stroke. His left hand held my hip, his right reached under and kept up a gentle pulse on my clit, not enough to tip me over the edge quickly, but enough to keep me hovering on that prickling, tingling plane of expectation.

  I was back on the island, the stars above me and the sand beneath. His rhythm matched the waves slapping on the shore, reliable, enduring.

  But this was sex, and sex has to end. The irony of sex always amused me – we long for the ending, orgasm as the ultimate goal, and yet the ending signifies the moment of heartbreak, for you know that after it everything will change again, be it through hormones and endorphins or cold realisation.

  Paul climaxed first this time, and I luxuriated in the sound of it. I couldn’t see the ecstatic grimace on his face but I could hear it in a feral moaning deliverance, propelled from him in time with the explosion of his come.

  He stilled to enjoy the wash of pleasure, but then began moving again and rubbing my clit concertedly. With the sound of his own rapture still fresh in my mind, my orgasm took hold swiftly and completely, rocketing through me. I pushed onto his cock, needing to feel it, wanting to know it. My eyes were wide, staring ahead, my fingers clenched on the sheets, the knuckles white, skin taut.

  ‘Oh, oh … oh!’

  I’d always been the quiet type during sex, preferring to keep it in, keep hold of that little part that reflected the real me. Not with Paul. With Paul, it could all come out. I keened long and loud as pleasure raged, loving his cock, still warm and hard inside me, and feeding off it.

  Only when we were both completely still and silent did Paul ease me down and onto my side. He spooned himself in behind me, still keeping his cock snug inside. The last I remember was a kiss whispered against my right cheek before I fell into the easiest sleep.

  Sixteen

  I slept longer than I’d intended. When I woke up, the bed beside me was empty. There was a smell of sausages coming from the kitchen. I stretched languidly and called out, ‘So you can cook more than tomato pasta?’

  There was no reply. I got up to wash and paced out to see him with a towel tucked around me. He was sitting at the table in only a loose pair of tracky bottoms, sipping from a cup of coffee and reading a newspaper. I walked over and kissed him on the cheek.

  ‘Have a look at this.’

  Paul pushed the newspaper towards me. On the front cover was a still from the show we’d done. It featured the two of us, beaming at each other, leaning into each other obviously, with the headline, ‘Safely together again.’

  I scanned the article quickly. It said little, but commented on how clearly relaxed and happy we were in each other’s company.

  I crossed my arms and tutted. ‘What do you reckon?’

  Paul shrugged. ‘Not much.’

  ‘We’re going to have to be incredibly careful.’

  ‘Well, it’s not as if we were going to go public with it anyway. You haven’t sorted Ronald out yet.’

  ‘Rupert.’ My stomach dropped. Shit. I was supposed to be meeting him. He was still expecting me to get back with him. I sat down and held my head in my hands.

  ‘Just tell him, Callie.’

  ‘About us?’ I asked incredulously.

  ‘No, just that you don’t want him back. He’s taken it once, he’ll take it again. Use the crash as an excuse – say it’s thrown you.’

  ‘You’ve thrown me. But … it might be beneficial to have someone else, at least in the eyes of the public.’

  He frowned. ‘Aw no, you can’t do that. It’s not fair on the bloke. Put him straight at least.’

  Guilt lurched through me. ‘Oh, bloody hell. I don’t know what to do.’

  His phone pinged with a text. Paul read it, distracted. ‘Look, I’m needed at work. How about coming round later?’

  ‘OK. I’m moving back to my flat in the next day or so. You could come there too.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ he smiled, standing up and kissing me. ‘Help yourself to anything. Best go out the back again – especially after that.’ He nodded at the papers with a grin.

  I pouted. ‘Don’t want you to go.’

  ‘I’ll make it up to you later.’

  ‘Promise?’

  He kissed me again in response. My desire leapt up to meet him. ‘Promise,’ he murmured against my lips before tearing himself away and preparing to leave.

  He was soon at the door. ‘I’ll give you a call later. The door’ll lock behind you. See you, Cal.’ He smiled, wonky as ever, gorgeous as ever. I puckered my lips at him and he turned and left.

  I turned back to my cereal and the newspaper. The picture was taken before we’d got back together, before that moment in the studio office, but I could only admit we looked like a couple already. Our eyes were locked together, our smiles open and genuine. I reached for the image of Paul and stroked his face. Just looking at a photo of him was enough to settle me, to comfort me, as if I was enveloped in a warm duvet. My body still tingled from our incredible sex, the most intuitive and satisfying I could imagine. But something pricked at me. I looked at the window, itching to go over and look out. I couldn’t. I couldn’t risk being seen.

  I made myself another cup of tea, enjoying handling Paul’s things, knowing those fingers had touched everything here. He had a large bookcase covering one wall of his flat. I scanned the titles. There were many travel volumes, a lot of history books, military, medieval, and a variety of novels. The Andy McNab book he’d been reading on the plane was clearly only part of his reading interests.

  Wedged amongst a pile of papers and other books was a title that caught my attention – The Plantagenet Chronicles by Elizabeth Hallam. I hadn’t seen it for a while and reached over. It was wedged hard and I gave a sharp tug to free it. In the process, the pile it was in collapsed, spilling books and papers over the floor.

  ‘Shit.’ I bent to pick them up in annoyance. Paul was sure to notice it had been disturbed and I felt guilty for rifling through his stuff. I started to tidy as best I could. There were some old music magazines, clearly much loved, a school book which I couldn’t resist having a quick flick through – A level History notes. He had nice handwriting. I smiled to myself and tried not to dawdle. A few old newspaper clippings had spilt out too. I started to gather them together and glanced at the headlines: ‘Soldier court-martialled over death of civilian.’ And another: ‘SAS sergeant arrested after Afghan deaths.’ My heart juddered. There were no photographs identifying the soldier in question and no names. I scanned the articles quickly for the gist of them. As I read, I remembered the incident. A British soldier had been court-martialled for his part in an SAS mission which ended in the deaths of some innocent civilians. The SAS had been after a leading jihadist. They�
��d got the man, but in the process civilians had died and it was said that the British soldiers had killed them deliberately and callously to achieve their aim. The sergeant in command said he’d been defending the civilians but in the confusion they had tragically been shot. He had eventually been cleared of any wrongdoing but it had resulted in much controversy and debate and done no favours to the British army.

  The soldier’s name was never released.

  I slumped back and let the papers fall around me. My mind whirled. Did Paul know this man? Was he a friend? Or … was it Paul himself? I held my head in my hands and felt nausea well up inside.

  Eventually, I focused enough to reach for the other papers. ‘Army sergeant cleared.’ ‘Off the hook.’ ‘Free but tainted.’ I winced as I read, remembering the furore that had raged over the case.

  Quickly, I tidied the rest of the things away, hoping that he wouldn’t notice it had been disturbed. I glanced around the room – the books, the art, the careful design – it all looked different now. How well did I actually know this man? I didn’t know him at all. I’d veered off the path and things were becoming rocky. I should have known it.

  Predictability. Wasn’t that what I wanted, what I needed? I retreated to the bedroom and gathered my clothes and things quickly, keen to get out.

  In the fire escape, I hurried as if flames really were licking at my heels. I remembered to glance about for photographers – none. I found my car quickly and drove to my parents.

  Seventeen

  ‘Where were you?’ asked my mother, as if I’d just come in late from the Leavers’ Ball.

  ‘At a friend’s. Didn’t you get my text?’

  ‘Yes, but a little more information would have helped.’

  ‘Mummy, I’m not sixteen anymore, and anyway, I’m going back to Chiswick today.’

  ‘Oh, darling!’ Her face fell. My father appeared over her shoulder.

  ‘Daddy, back me up here. I can’t stay forever.’

  ‘Callie’s right, Victoria. She needs to get back to normal now. I’ll help you get things sorted in the flat if you want.’ He came over and put a calming hand on my shoulder.

  ‘It’s all fine, Daddy, thanks. Mum, please don’t be like this.’