Chapter 57
Cal
‘You have a great voice,’ Aida tells me as I lather up her hair in my cavernous shower.
I pause my exuberant rendition of Jerusalem. The acoustics in here are excellent, and I’m slightly addicted to the added richness the echo gives my decent baritone. ‘Why, thank you. I love a good hymn. Not that this is a hymn.’
‘It’s not?’ She tilts her head to one side so I can massage the nape of her neck.
‘Nope. It’s actually considered pretty blasphemous by a lot of Catholics. The priests would never have let us sing it at school, which is probably why every school mate of mine has had it at their wedding.’
She laughs. ‘Such rebels.’
‘Yeah. Jerusalem and kinky sex were our main ways of acting out. Shocking.’
‘Why is it blasphemous?’
‘I think because Blake based the poem on some bullshit legend made up by monks in Glastonbury about Jesus having visited Somerset when he was a kid. It was all a load of bollocks to make their mead, or ale, or whatever the fuck they were brewing, seem more authentic, basically.’
She giggles. ‘Jesus at Glastonbury is a pretty trippy visual. And who knew medieval monks were into mis-selling?’
‘Right? Dodgy fuckers. Anyway, Blake ran with it, and Parry put it to music, and it’s a fucking good tune.’ I angle her head back with my thumbs on her jaw so I can rinse her hair and resume my singing, rolling the r of bring with gusto.
‘Bring me my Bow of burning gold:
Bring me my arrows of desire.’
‘I don’t think you need any arrows of desire,’ she points out.
‘You’re my arrow of desire. You hit me, good and proper, and I’m completely fucked.’ I smile down at her as I gently coax my fingers through her hair, washing out the last of the shampoo.
She smiles back at me, catlike. ‘You’re adorable.’
‘I am. When do I get to meet your kids? Now that I’m your boyfriend.’
‘Funny,’ she says, ‘I recall you saying you wanted to audition to be my boyfriend, but I don’t recall me saying you’d passed.’
Tough fucking customer, this one. Aida Russell isn’t the only eye-roller in town. I give her one of my best. ‘Was that not an excellent breakfast in bed?’
‘It was.’
‘And was the orgasm that followed it not also excellent?’
‘It was,’ she owns.
‘So…’
‘Can we take it day by day?’ she pleads. She runs her palms lightly up my arms before interlocking her hands behind my neck. I tug her in closer.
‘I want it,’ she admits. ‘I really do. A lot, actually. But, honestly, putting a label on us is less important to me than how we actually are together. I think we need to see how this works in practice. But yeah, I agree you should meet Pip and Kit if you’re serious about this.
Even if I won’t be throwing labels around when I introduce you. Does that sound okay?’
That sounds more than okay.