Older Man

by Bright, Laurey;

  But he suddenly pushed her away, so that she came jarringly up against the counter. His face had closed. “I told you,” he said, “it's okay. It only took five seconds to figure out it was all a game, albeit a fairly bloodthirsty one.” He moved away from her, not looking at her any more. “I hope the kids won't have nightmares tonight."

  Rennie clutched t the counter behind her, sick with disappointment. “I'm sure they won't. It's good for them to be a bit rowdy now and then."

  "I'm not arguing with that,” he said. “I think you're doing a great job with Toby and Ellen. Actually, I came to see if I could help. But if you really want me to get out—” He raised his brows, a glimmer of a smile on his mouth.

  She didn't. She wanted him to come back and take her in his arms again, but she knew he wouldn't. For a minute there he had been sorely tempted, and the knowledge made her heart sing. But he didn't want that kind of involvement with her, she knew, for all sorts of reasons, not the least of which was that he thought her too young.

  She remembered him telling her that Jean had always made him feel incompetent in the house, and said casually, “Thanks. You can wash some broccoli and carrots and slice them, if you like.” And resolved that no matter how badly he did it, she wouldn't criticise.

  He didn't actually do it badly at all, but quite competently and quickly. When he had finished she had the hot oil ready and was tossing meat strips into it.

  "Over here,” she said, stirring the meat and gently shaking the pan.

  He came to stand by her, and tipped the vegetables deftly in, his shoulder brushing hers before he moved away. Rennie didn't look up, merely reaching over the stove to turn down the heat a little. She wondered if he was tingling all over the way she was. And was certain that if so he wasn't going to do anything about it.

  He had himself well in hand now. Best not to rush things. But time, she thought happily as she hummed a tune gently and stirred a little soy sauce into the sizzling vegetables, was on her side. Time and propinquity, and Grant's own feelings which he was so determined not to give in to.

  Toby came in to report indignantly that Ellen wasn't helping, and Grant went off to remonstrate. When he returned Rennie had the dinner ready to dish up and was setting the table in the dining room.

  "I'm impressed,” he said. “It smells delicious."

  It tasted just as good, he told her when they had eaten. Ellen was inclined to be suspicious of the rice, but Toby ate his stoically and asked for more, and after that requested pudding. “We tidied everything up,” he reminded her righteously. “And I'm very hungry!"

  Having been informed several times that Mummy didn't believe puddings were good for growing children except on special occasions, preferring them to have fresh fruit instead, Rennie glanced at Grant for guidance.

  He shrugged. “I'm quite partial to a bit of pudding myself,” he said, “but Rennie hasn't had time to prepare any tonight."

  Toby's face fell. Rennie said quickly, “There's a tin of peaches and some custard powder in the pantry. We could have that."

  "Yes,” Toby said unequivocally. Rennie smiled and got up to fetch it. She hoped that Jean wouldn't have disapproved too strongly.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Determined that in spite of his reassurances there would be no repetition of the chaotic scene into which Grant had walked the previous evening, the next day Rennie began planning dinner straight after breakfast. Inspecting the depleted stock of meat in the freezer, she decided on casseroled beef olives with cauliflower au gratin and creamed potatoes.

  The beef didn't thaw as quickly as she hoped, and Ellen had woken from her nap before she could separate the slices and spread seasoning on them. Having Ellen's enthusiastic help meant that some of the rolled up ‘olives’ were a little odd in shape, but the casserole went into the oven with plenty of time to simmer nicely until dinner. Recklessly, Rennie decided to make a proper pudding, and found the ingredients for a sweet with eggs, milk and rice flavoured with golden syrup. Even Jean, she thought, wouldn't have objected to all that protein. And the little bit of syrup couldn't hurt.

  Toby was home from school in time to help beat the eggs and grind some nutmeg to sprinkle on top of the pudding. He wanted to play space ships again, prepared stoically to accept Ellen substituting for his friend Timmy, but Rennie tried to dissuade him. “Wouldn't you rather play outside?” she suggested.

  "No.” Toby stared at her.

  She wanted to tidy up the house—and herself—before Grant came home. “Maybe you could make a space ship out under the tree?” she coaxed hopefully. There was one tree in the yard, a twisted willow, not shaped for climbing or swings, but a tree nevertheless.

  "How?” Toby asked.

  "Well—"

  In the end she accompanied him out to the garage and helped to find some cardboard boxes, a disused rubbish bin and assorted metal objects. A kitchen stool was added to the structure for the pilot's seat, and then a chair for Ellen as the co-pilot.

  Rennie returned to the kitchen, and an ominous smell. The rice pudding had run over the top of its dish and was spreading over the oven floor.

  From then on it was all downhill. She tried ineffectually to wipe the oven and burnt her hand in the process. The syrup made the spill sticky. The kitchen rapidly filled with smoke and the heavy, rich aroma of burned sugar.

  Rennie opened the door to let some of it out, and a few minutes later the children came racing inside, heedless of the mud on their shoes leaving grubby marks all the way from the back door to their bedroom.

  Busy trying to scrape some of the burnt pudding off the oven with an egg-slice, Rennie didn't notice that when they went out again they were carrying the pillows from their (_)beds. Judging from their voices and laughter, they were having a good time. When she looked out and saw them having a pillow fight, she let it go. Probably they shouldn't have their pillows outside, but they were enjoying themselves.

  It wasn't until they had brought them back in that she realised the rough-housing had burst one of the pillows, and added to the mud already trekked in was a trail of tiny foam chips.

  And then it rained.

  When Grant came in the space-ship was a disintegrating heap of cardboard boxes, the house smelled lingeringly of smoke, and he nearly tripped on the vacuum cleaner in the hallway, where Rennie had abandoned it to check on the casserole before remembering that she had not yet peeled the potatoes.

  Toby and Ellen were in the bath, playing whales and covering floor and walls with spouts of water. Grant peeped in and retreated, not willing to suffer the same fate himself. He found Rennie in the kitchen, mournfully surveying a casserole dish she had evidently just taken from the oven. In the bottom of the dish several odd-looking darkly browned objects reposed on a thick bed of something he couldn't identify. A stool was standing for some reason in the middle of the floor, and as he moved it he noted that it was wet, as was the chair which stood just inside the back door.

  Rennie was wet, too, her bright hair dishevelled and beaded with raindrops, the shoulders of her shirt dark with damp.

  She looked up at him and said, as though the ultimate disaster had befallen, “Oh, no!"

  Grant's brows rose. “Not exactly flattering, Rennie. Shall I go out and come in again—or just go out and not come in at all?"

  "Oh, don't be silly!” she said crossly, just as a pot on the stove boiled over with a loud hiss, hot water cascading down its sides. Rennie said something totally unladylike and banged the casserole down on the bench, then snatched the pot off the ring.

  "Need some help?” Grant asked.

  "No!” she said fiercely, adding a belated, “Thank you.” She turned down the stove and replaced the pot. “They lost their stuffing,” she said, glaring at the casserole.

  "What are they?” Grant surveyed it warily.

  "They're supposed to be beef olives."

  "They smell good,” Grant offered.

  Rennie's scowl if anything became blacker. “You don't
have to be kind!"

  Grant looked at her with some sympathy. “Had a bad day?"

  "Not particularly,” she admitted, still scowling, “until the last hour or so.” She had meant to greet him looking smoothly shining, wearing a dress and with her hair combed and perhaps put up in a knot. The house would be spotless and the children ready for dinner and bed, clean and sweet and amenable. And she would serve them a perfect meal, then they'd all clear up the dishes and she or Grant would read a story for Toby and Ellen before, perhaps, settling down to an evening together.

  Now he was looking round him as if he'd blundered into an unexpected minefield, and she didn't blame him. She knew she looked a mess, the house equally so, and her special dinner was ruined. She'd been listening with one ear to the sounds from the bathroom—it was obvious from the noise level that no one was drowned—and she knew that a fair bit of splashing had gone on, so that was probably equally a disaster area.

  Underlining that thought, Ellen came bounding into the kitchen, pinkly naked with a towel held ineffectually at her middle, almost stepping on it as she ran towards Grant, crying, “Daddy! Dry me!"

  "Okay, sweetheart!” He bent to her, wrapping her into the towel before bearing her off to the bathroom again.

  Rennie pushed damp hair from her eyes and set her chin. Might as well get on with it.

  While she salvaged what she could, Grant got the children into their pyjamas and wiped the bathroom. She heard the hum of the vacuum and knew she ought to be grateful that someone at least was being efficient. Instead, she felt more angry and humiliated than ever.

  The children ate the mushy remains of the casserole without comment and, after glancing at Rennie's face, Grant evidently decided the wisest course was to do the same. The cauliflower was passable, but she'd had not time to make the sauce. And the potatoes had gone lumpy. She'd been so anxious to get the meal over with, she'd skimped on the cooking time.

  The pudding looked odd, all black at the edges and sunken in the centre, but Toby asked for a second helping. Rennie managed a grateful smile for him as she handed him the plate.

  "I'll put them to bed,” Grant offered when the meal was over and the plates carried to the kitchen. “And do the dishes later. You rest, Rennie."

  "I don't need to rest,” she told him shortly. “I'll do the dishes."

  She began clattering the empty plates into the sink. Grant gave her a thoughtful look and left her to it.

  She got them all done and was on her knees scrubbing at the still-warm oven with a steel wool pad when he came in and said, “Ah, that's where the smell came from."

  "I'll get it off,” she promised, rubbing vigorously.

  "Leave it—” he suggested.

  "No, it will only set harder once the oven cools.” She brushed back her hair impatiently with a blackened, soapy hand.

  He bent and took her wrist, pulling her to her feet. “Leave it to me,” he said firmly. “I'll finish it."

  Rennie's chin set. “You don't have to—it was my fault. I must have set the temperature too high. I did want it to be nice, and have everything on time, and the children ready, a decent house for you to come back to—but the pudding went over first, and the children were having a pillow fight and I didn't notice until it was too late, Ellen's was dripping foam all over so I had to sew it up to stop the mess getting worse and so she can sleep on it tonight, and then it rained, and I'd started to clean up but I'd forgotten the potatoes and—don't you dare laugh at me!” she finished wrathfully, and threw the soapy pad in her hand at him.

  It bounced harmlessly off his shoulder, and to his credit he was trying not to laugh, but she could see it in his eyes and in the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. She stood glaring at him, her eyes bright with temper and her cheeks hot.

  "I'm not laughing,” he lied. “I can see it isn't funny for you—"

  "No, it isn't in the least funny!” She managed to hold onto the anger for a few more seconds, but she felt a reluctant smile tug at the corner of her own mouth. “I suppose it is, really,” she admitted.

  "A bit,” Grant agreed. He reached out a hand and brushed his thumb firmly over her cheek. “Standing on your dignity doesn't work when you've got black smudges all over your face, I'm afraid."

  "Oh-ooh!” Rennie wailed in a combination of anguish and despair. So she looked a fright as well.

  And then Grant laughed in earnest, holding out his arms to her, and she went into them as naturally as breathing, having a quietly resigned little laugh of her own against his warm shoulder, while he nuzzled at her hair.

  When the laughter died they stood quietly, their arms loosely about each other, and Rennie was content. She closed her eyes, hoping to make the moment last.

  Grant moved and she held her breath for an instant. His hand was under her chin, lifting it. She kept her eyes closed, afraid of breaking the spell.

  Grant said, his voice hardly more than a whisper, “Rennie?"

  Reluctantly she opened her eyes. He was staring at her with dark intensity, and she stared back, unafraid.

  "I shouldn't do this,” he murmured, “but..."

  She lifted her face a fraction nearer to his and closed her eyes again. And felt her lips part under the brush of his mouth across them, featherlight, tentative, promising.

  She made a tiny sound and put her arms right around him, her fingers spread against his warm, hard back. Heard him say her name again, almost as though it hurt him, before his mouth was opening over hers, gentle but inexorable. And then less gentle, with an underlying violence as though he had decided to take what she was offering but was angry about it.

  When he broke the kiss, suddenly pushing her away although he retained a tight hold on her arms, Rennie blinked at him in some dismay. His breathing was harsh, and the strange anger was in his eyes. “I'm sorry,” he said, as if the words were dragged from him. “I should never have done that."

  "Why not?” she demanded. “I wanted you to!” She knew very well she had blatantly asked for it, and not for anything would she admit that she had been slightly frightened by the result.

  He shook his head as if to clear it. “You ought to curb that headlong honesty of yours,” he said. “It could get you into trouble."

  "What do you expect me to do?” she asked. “Go all coy and pretend I'm afraid of being ravished? Some luck!"

  "Rennie!” he protested on a reluctant choke of laughter.

  "Well,” Rennie said, hiding her disappointment and confusion under flippancy, “if I'm not going to get ravished tonight—” She bent to pick up the discarded soap pad.

  "Not tonight, not any night,” Grant said firmly.

  Regaining her confidence, she dared to say, “You wanna bet?"

  "I mean it, Rennie” he said firmly. “It just won't do. And you can take that stubborn look off your face, I'm not going to argue the toss with you."

  She made a face at him instead, and he laughed. Rennie was glad to hear it, but she looked thoughtfully at the wet pad in her hand and back at him.

  Decisively, Grant shook his head. “Don't try it again. You won't get away with it a second time."

  Interested, she cocked her head to one side, regarding him.

  "Uh-uh!” he warned. “Childish, Rennie. I might just retaliate in kind and put you over my knee."

  "Is that a promise?” Rennie asked, wide-eyed.

  Grant shook his head, unable to stop a smile. “You are incorrigible!” And he walked out of the room.

  A few days later Grant came home from work and walked into the kitchen, where Rennie was standing at the stove, lifting the lid off a boiling pot and listening to Toby read.

  "Hi, son,” he said, ruffling Toby's hair. “Hello, Rennie.” He looked about. “Where's Ellen?"

  Rennie lowered the heat beneath the potatoes, and turned to face him. Trying to sound casual, she said, “Playing with Sally, over the road."

  "At her place?"

  "They've been over there—” she glanced at he
r watch “—oh, about an hour and a half. Sally's mother's was going to bring her back about now, unless she asked to come home sooner."

  Grant stood very still. “That's great,” he said carefully. “Isn't it?"

  "Isn't it?” Rennie couldn't contain her excitement any longer. She almost flew across the kitchen, and put her arms about him in a hug. “She's going to be just fine!"

  Grant's arms came round her to return the hug as she smiled up at him.

  There was a knock on the door, and Rennie, her eyes shining, stepped back. “That'll be them now."

  After the children had been put to bed, and Grant had kissed them goodnight, he came into the lounge to find Rennie sitting in a chair with her legs curled under her while she read a magazine, one finger absently twirling a lock of red hair that had escaped from her pony tail.

  "You look like a kid yourself,” he said. “How can you work such miracles?"

  "I didn't. Time did. I told you that was all she needed."

  "The certainty of youth!"

  "Oh, stop it. You're not that ancient, yourself. I was right, anyway. And you needn't think I don't know why you're always reminding me of the difference in our ages.” Which wasn't quite fair, because he hadn't, lately. Only he had also treated her with a formality bordering on indifference, and tonight, buoyed up by Ellen's giant step forward, she felt rash enough to challenge him.

  For a moment she thought he was going to retaliate. His eyes narrowed, and a brief glitter lit them. But he only said mildly, “I don't mean to offend you, Rennie. We all owe you far too much for that."

  Rennie shook her head. “Give yourself some credit too, Grant. Having you back in her life on a permanent basis was probably the biggest factor.” It must have meant changing his whole lifestyle, but he had done it unhesitatingly. She wondered if there had been another woman in his life, as there had been another man for Jean. And she remembered with a little chill how he had looked at Celeste and Ethan on their wedding day. Celeste had been with him the evening Rennie had first met Grant. And had been borne off by Ethan in the middle of the ball.