Out of Control

Chapter 3

They ended up in the bedroom before Fiona could formulate any thoughts about clearing away and washing up. Slowly, they undressed one another, and it was as though Joe’s bombshell about moving in had never happened. She luxuriated in the gentle touch of his fingers, lips and tongue. Simply being next to each other, bare skin alongside bare skin, was what she liked best about making love. And Joe was happy to give her all the time she needed until she couldn’t bear the anticipation of them coming together any longer.

Afterwards he wrapped his arms and legs around her and held her close. For a while, sated, they both dozed. Then, through habit, Fiona forced herself back to consciousness. “Joe?”

“Shhh! There is no more leaping out of bed to drive home. We can fall asleep together. I don’t know why we ever had that rule anyway.”

Fiona knew why — she hadn’t wanted to share her bed or have the two of them tripping over each other to shower and get off to work the next day, or Joe stealing precious time out of a weekend morning that she wanted to use for running or yoga. She attempted to push past these inconveniences and relax into the warmth and security of another body beside her — instead of the cold air that used to leap in and tease her vulnerability when Joe threw back the duvet and leaped out.

“Find yourself someone special,” her mother had nagged for years.

Now Fiona began to understand why — there was a certain contentment about settling down to sleep together that she hadn’t experienced for a long time. Joe moving in was a shock, but it had the potential to turn into a pleasant surprise — especially if they invested in a king-size bed. Even when she was married, Fiona had felt a double bed was not big enough for two to actually sleep in. It was impossible to get far enough away from the other person to give the illusion of privacy or to have sufficient space to sprawl and spread as much as necessary.

At this moment, Joe’s presence felt right, but she couldn’t sleep wrapped in someone else’s arms, feeling their breath on her skin and the faint tremble of their heartbeat. He was already asleep. Carefully, she shifted herself away from him. The ideal position, back-to-back with as large a gap as possible between them, wasn’t achievable without waking him. Joe didn’t snore but he did breathe heavily and audibly. And he insisted on sleeping facing her. She turned away to face the bedside table but could feel his breath on her neck and hear each inhale and exhale. The more she thought about it, the more audible and annoying his presence became. That novelty of ‘warmth and security’ didn’t sufficiently make up for losing her own private sleeping space. Fiona had two spare bedrooms, the smallest filled with a desk and computer and the larger with a double bed for guests. That bed wasn’t made up and the prospect of getting out into the cold to find sheets and a duvet didn’t appeal, especially not since she’d gone without her usual fleecy winter pyjamas in favour of nakedness for Joe.

At 2 a.m. she pulled a tissue from her bedside box, tore off a couple of small strips and screwed them into balls to act as ear plugs. Then she shuffled as near to her side of the bed as she could without falling out. It must have done the trick because the next thing she knew, Joe was getting out of bed.

“Is it morning?” she muttered.

“No. It’s three fifteen and I’m going to the loo. Sorry, but I’ve got to put the light on. I can’t manage in the pitch dark in an unfamiliar room.”

The sudden bright glare from the other side of the bed made Fiona’s muscles jump. She pulled the quilt over her head and focused on breathing slowly and deeply. Breath in, breath out. Breath in, breath out. She could feel her heart rate calming.

Then there was a bang and a vibration through the bed frame and mattress. “Aaah! Bloody hell! It’s like negotiating an obstacle course.”

Fiona flung the quilt back. “For God’s sake, Joe. How can you walk into the bed with that spotlight on?”

From his jerky movements she could see that he was now hopping rather than walking back round to his side of the bed.

“I didn’t put my glasses on. Everything’s blurry.”

He got back into bed. She felt some tugging on the quilt, he went still and then started breathing heavily again. Now all Fiona could think about was going to the toilet herself. Breath in, breath out. Breath in, breath out. The more she tried to ignore her bladder, the more it dominated her thoughts. Breath in, breath out.

She pushed back the covers and made her way to the bathroom in the dark, shivering and cursing her lack of nightwear. Joe didn’t stir. No need to put the light on in the bathroom, she knew exactly where the toilet was. She sat down and immediately stood up again. “Damn him!”

Joe had failed to put the toilet seat down and now the backs of Fiona’s thighs felt slightly damp from whatever residue he’d left behind. She remembered his glasses abandoned by the bed and tried not to let her mind veer towards his accuracy of aim. She scrubbed at the back of her legs with toilet paper, put the seat down, did what she had to do and then deliberately washed her hands for a long time under the running tap and flushed the toilet. He’d inconvenienced her so she had the right to wake him up, accidentally on purpose.

She got back into bed, wriggled around and pulled on the quilt for as long as she could without it seeming deliberate. None of it worked. He continued to breath rhythmically and loudly onto her neck.

* * *

“Wakey-wakey!”

Joe was standing over her with a tray. How, given his nocturnal noises, had he managed to get up, get dressed for work, boil the kettle, which sounded like a rocket taking off, and then bring in a breakfast tray — all without waking her?

“Sit up! You don’t want to fritter your retirement away in the land of nod.”

Obediently, she pushed herself up to a sitting position and shrugged on the dressing gown that Joe was offering. She rearranged the pillows behind her and Joe placed the tray across her lap.

“Coffee, toast and a bowl of that fruit salad, which I assume we should have eaten last night.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem. You deserve it for taking me in.”

Fiona smiled at him. It was nice to be pampered and not have to go downstairs and make her own breakfast in a kitchen still chilly before the central heating properly kicked in.

Joe sat down on the edge of the bed, leaned over and kissed her. “I’ve got to go. It’s my Saturday to work and the first patient is at eight thirty a.m. Don’t worry about cooking tonight. We’re going out — it’s the practice Christmas do and the first chance I have to show you off. And I am going to make the most of it!”

Then he was gone, leaving Fiona blinking her gritty, sleep-deprived eyes and trying to imbibe coffee quickly enough to enable her brain to compute the full impact of what Joe had just said.