Same Time Next Week

Chapter 39

Mel came in from work on the Monday with a carrier bag of presents and cards. She pushed open the door and saw the mail on the mat. She wondered if Steve’s card would be posted or hand-delivered? She sifted through them: a card from her Auntie Celia on the Isle of Wight, a card from someone she used to work with – they hadn’t seen each other for twenty years, but they never missed birthdays or Christmas. A new bank card, an appeal from a charity, a flyer advertising gardening services, a fucking funeral plan leaflet – nothing else. Her sister’s always arrived a week late, which used to make Steve cross because he was Mr Punctual with everything. If he had intended to send something, she would have had it by now.

She’d spent all day in a state of anticipation, imagining what sort of card it would be, what he’d say in it, because it didn’t cross her mind it wouldn’t be here, despite their circumstances. He’d never missed, not in thirty-one years. And now he had.

With a heart weighted with sadness, she put the flowers her boss Heather had given her at work into a vase and set them on the dining room table. They’d all bought her bubble bath, a book, a cake – for two people – and a carton of cream and a bottle of pink champagne. Young Stella, the graduate trainee had bought her a ‘Sex Kit for a Sex Kitten’ which had some handcuffs, chocolate sauce and ‘tingle gel’, whatever that was, and a bottom spanker with the word SLUT cut out, presumably to leave a raised imprint on a lucky buttock. She said it was just a jokey present really but everyone had laughed and said they’d be watching for how carefully Mel sat down over the next week. Mel had laughed along with them and said thank you and then had a little sad moment in the toilets.

She opened up a bottle of red and raised a glass to herself in the mirror.

‘Happy Birthday, Melinda English,’ she said and wondered if she would ever go back to being Melinda McVie. She’d liked that name. Melinda McVie had been full of burning ambitions and dreams and hopes before life threw a damp cloth over them all, snuffing them out.

There was a rap on the back door and her heart made a giant leap in her chest. But she knew it wasn’t Steve from the shape in the frosted glass panel. It was too tall, just different, unfamiliar.

She opened it up to find Pat there.

‘Hiya,’ he said. ‘I’ve got news. Can I come in?’

She stood aside and he walked into the kitchen and saw the flowers and the cards.

‘Oh, is it your birthday?’

‘Yep,’ she said. ‘Fifty-four today.’

‘You don’t look it.’

‘I feel a hundred and four. How old are you?’

‘I’ll be fifty-two on Christmas Day. Chloe’s fifty-one on Halloween.’

That brought a wry smile. She loved his accent, though she hadn’t given it much thought when she’d first heard it. It was both rough and smooth on the ear at the same time.

‘Want a glass of wine?’

‘Er, yeah, okay,’ he said. ‘I’ll have one with you.’ He picked up the sex kit present.

‘One of the girls bought it for me,’ she said. ‘I doubt it’ll be getting used. And I’m not sure I dare put it in the charity bag.’

She poured him a glass and set it before him on the table.

‘You all right? You look better than you did. That’s gone, hasn’t it?’ He tapped his lip and pointed at hers.

‘Finally. I thought it was going to be my new live-in partner,’ said Mel.

‘Nice weekend, weren’t it?’

‘It was great. I ended up at a barbecue and I joined a band.’

Pat grinned. ‘The one with your school mates. Mint. What you called?’

‘We haven’t decided on a name. It all got out of hand.’

‘I’ll come and see you when you’re on stage. First gig. I’ll be there in the mosh pit.’

‘You might be the only one there,’ said Mel.

They both sipped their wine.

‘I had a text,’ he said. ‘From Chlo. She said, “What’s the state of play with us if I come back?”’

Mel’s whole body stopped, like a clock with a buggered mechanism.

‘I didn’t reply, in case you’re wondering. She’ll know I read it, but I sent nothing back. Sometimes you say more when you say nothing at all, as some wise person once said.’

‘Ronan Keating?’

He tutted. ‘Winston Churchill.’

It was news she’d been waiting for, that the cracks were showing, but she felt strangely flat.

‘I was going to order a pizza for my birthday,’ she said. ‘Would you care to join me?’

‘Er, yeah, that sounds good,’ he said. He’s probably being kind because it’s my birthday , she thought, but she’d take the sympathy offer anyway, because she didn’t want to be alone.

When Amanda went up to the hospital that evening, she found that Ingrid had been moved into an individual room because she had developed shingles. Her immune system was low and the virus had taken advantage of her guard being down. She slept peacefully for the first four hours Amanda was there. She texted Bradley to tell him the latest development because she thought he should know and she was all about the duty. He texted back that he wasn’t sure he could get up there tonight as he had really bad toothache.

‘That was a fantastic pizza,’ said Pat. ‘The best one I’ve had in ages.’

Mel filled up their glasses. She was a bit tiddly, but what the hell. Alexa was pumping out some tunes and if the only people she could have a birthday party with were her and a postman who smelt really nice then so be it. Oud Wood by Tom Ford, he told her. One of those marmite fragrances people either loved or hated, but he really liked it, and so did she.

‘How about finishing off with some cake?’ said Mel.

‘Yeah, I like cake,’ replied Pat.

Mel got two bowls out of the cupboard and cut her mini cake in half, covered both portions in cream.

‘Do you want me to sing happy birthday to you?’ said Pat. ‘I will warn you, I don’t actually bear any resemblance to the Gallaghers when I’m banging out a tune.’

‘No, but we should make a wish,’ said Mel.

‘Well, I wish that you get what you deserve,’ said Pat. ‘Cos I think you’re a lovely woman. Really pretty as well. Especially now that thing’s gone on your lip.’

Mel hooted. ‘That’s probably the nicest thing anyone has said to me in ages. And I wish the same for you. Because I think you’re really—’

Mel never finished off that sentence because Pat leaned across and kissed her on the mouth. Then he pulled away.

‘Sorry. That was supposed to be a kiss on your cheek but you turned and—’

They were kissing again and neither would ever remember who instigated it, but his hand was entangled in her hair and hers was gripping his shoulder. And to the lyrics of the Soup Dragons singing about loving someone and holding someone, they were heading up the stairs, crashing into Mel’s bedroom, onto the bed.

She had never had sex with anyone but Steve before. This felt wicked, really naughty, she should stop before it got too far, although it was already that because her shirt was off. Pat was kissing her neck and her blood had turned to Krug and was fizzing through her veins. Where his hands went, his lips followed and he was in no rush about it either. Steve never did anything like this, he wasn’t one for long warm-up acts before the main event. She couldn’t open her legs wide enough.

If someone had told her about fifty-somethings having sex like this when she was a teenager she’d have vomited up her space dust.

Steve said it put him off when she made a noise, but she freed all the vowels she had at full volume now.

She wanted to rip her own knickers off.

‘No, keep them on until you can’t stand it any longer,’ Pat said, grazing his stubble against her inner thigh.

My sweet lord, she cried, and not in a George Harrison way.

It wasn’t so much an orgasm as a tidal wave.

‘Right, let’s have them off now,’ said Pat.

Amanda was about to leave when her mother stirred.

‘Is that you, Amanda?’ she said.

‘Yes, Mum, it’s me.’

‘You’re not going, are you?’

‘No, not if you don’t want me to.’

Amanda sat back down, next to the mum she had cared about and watched over and loved consistently. But then love didn’t need two-way traffic to subsist and this was the only sort of love she knew, the pattern replicated over and over in her life. She took hold of her mother’s hand, the one that wasn’t dancing about in the air, pointing. ‘Who’s that in the corner?’ Ingrid asked her.

‘Who do you think it is, Mum?’

‘I don’t know.’ Ingrid stared hard and then her face registered recognition. She chuckled lightly. ‘All right, I’m coming soon. Just let me have a little rest first.’

She sighed and closed her eyes. And they never opened for Amanda again.

Mel and Pat were staring at each other by the light of the bedside lamp, their breath slowing to normal. She didn’t really know what to say because she was on alien territory here. Did this make her a tart? She had just bonked someone else’s husband – three times, though she’d had two extra bonus orgasms on top of that. He’d said ‘Happy Birthday’ when she came the last time and she’d laughed and said it was much better than cake.

It had been odd feeling the weight of another man on her, a longer, heavier weight. And she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt as if she had been made love to, rather than just ‘done it’ because it was the Saturday night custom, the itch scratched. Pat had been tender and intuitive; he’d given more than he’d taken from her and he hadn’t just rolled over after each time but held her and kissed her and told her how soft her skin was and how mad her hair was. She fought against batting back the compliments, because it was a bit late in the day to be bashful when she’d been riding him like Frankie Dettori, too far gone to worry about her bits jiggling and bouncing all over the shop. Rather than the sight putting him off, he’d been fully invested, if the noises he was making were anything to go by. He’d made her feel sexy and liberated and feminine and wanted. He’d been a thousand-volt jolt to her near-dead spirits and other bodily parts.

‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m going to have to go home,’ said Pat, reaching over, stroking her cheek with a gentle thumb. ‘I’d stay if I didn’t have such an early start. I’m up at three. It would have been nice to fall to sleep and wake up with you.’

‘I get it, you really don’t have to apologise.’

‘I think we both needed that. I wasn’t using you.’

‘I was using you.’

He smiled. His cocky edginess hadn’t been her idea of fanciable when they’d first met but since getting to know him, that had changed because he really was a dish – inside and out. She hoped he wouldn’t come to regret it and she hoped her memories of this night wouldn’t be soured by regret either, because the cold light of day could be a bastard. Also, if she’d known what one-night stands were all about, she’d have had a few more before she settled down.

He levered himself out of bed, put on his clothes and she slipped on her towelling robe.

‘I’ll try and go out discreetly so the neighbours don’t see,’ he said.

‘I don’t care,’ she replied. She’d bang a drum if there were one handy.

At the door, he turned to her, took her face in his hands.

‘I really do hope you get what you deserve, Mel. I meant that. You are a beau’iful woman, a proper prize, so you don’t sell yourself short. Take your time to work out what your feelings are and don’t be rushed over it, neither.’

He kissed her on the lips, soft, caring, sweet.

And then left her, his Oud Wood fragrance lingering in the air and on her skin.