Chapter 50
My mind is reeling as I leave the hospital. Dad did all that? He risked financial security and possibly his marriage because he couldn’t stand by and watch a brute destroy other people’s lives.
And he lived through violence himself, as did Granny Maria. I’m shocked that I had no idea.
On the bus on the way home, all I can think about is what an amazing thing my dad did.
And yet, I’m not even that surprised. Dad is amazing.
Mum is, too. I get she wanted that financial cushion for her kids, not for a new kitchen or a loft conversion, even though Tig and I moaned for years about sharing a bedroom.
And Mark. Jesus, what a weight to have carried. No wonder he was so adamant he didn’t want any thanks. I get it now. My family stepped up when no one else did. And he’s never forgotten it.
My phone rings as I get off the bus.
I smile when I see the name.
‘Hey, Mark, I’m just back from the hospital, and I was thinking about you.’
‘Oh, right okay.’ He sounds hesitant. ‘How’s your dad?’
‘He’s feeling great.’
‘Good. I had a quick chat with the surgeon, who’s very happy with his progress.’ There’s a pause. ‘I wanted to apologise for last night. I was short with you, and that was out of order.’
I stop him before he can say anything more. ‘Please don’t apologise. I get it. I really do.’ Except, I’m not sure I should admit just how much I get. It’s not a subject I want to broach over the phone.
‘The good news is he should be released tomorrow,’ says Mark, after a pause.
‘Someone should have told my mum, who made me take him enough food to feed a regiment.’
‘That was very sweet of her.’
I stop myself mid-sentence. It was sweet of her. Why do I always ridicule her for showing love through food?
‘So,’ Mark continues, ‘I was hoping you were free tonight. Theo wants to come round for one last tango lesson before we head up to Leeds. He’s got a two-hour window between six and eight. I know it’s short notice, but I’ll make it worth your while – I’ll cook us dinner afterwards.’
‘You don’t need to, I’m happy to help.’
‘I’d like to.’
I check the time. It’s almost four. ‘Okay, then. I’ll bring dessert.’
‘Deal.’
I retrace my steps and go to the corner shop, grabbing bits and pieces and hoping Mum has the rest of the ingredients I need at home.
I’ve never made galatoboureko before and I had to cheat with shop-bought filo pastry, but hopefully it’s edible.
As I’m waiting for it to bake, Mark texts: wear those red heels tonight.
My first thought is: does he want to do the lesson somewhere formal?
Actually, that’s not true. My first thought, courtesy of my reptilian brain, was, HE WANTS TO HAVE SEX WITH YOU.
Or maybe that text was meant for someone else? Was another woman coming over after the dancing and dinner?
I’m still overthinking Mark’s text when a second one arrives. Wear whatever you like – but bring heels so Theo gets used to dancing with someone your sister’s height.
Okay, that’s good. That means the text was meant for me, and it wasn’t about sex.
I’m an idiot.
A short idiot.
I arrive five minutes late because after a text exchange with Yan wherein I discover he’s staying over at ‘Ned’s’ tonight, Reptilian Brain had rubbed its hands in glee and demanded I wear something either VERY TIGHT or VERY REVEALING, preferably both if we wanted to maximise my chances of getting some tonight.
I tried to ignore that voice and sternly reminded myself that Mark and I are just friends, and all we’re doing tonight is helping – as pals – another pal learn to dance.
There is no ‘some’ to be got.
So I ignored the slinky black dress that leapt out of my wardrobe and plumped instead for black capris, (flattering rather than tight), paired with a gingham peasant top that only resembles the get-up of a buxom tavern wench if you had sex on the brain. Which I don’t.
The low-cut top meant I had to dig out one of those uncomfortable bras that usually only gets an outing on Valentine’s and birthdays, and because I needed a big bag to carry the galatoboureko, I threw in some extra bits and pieces because it looked weird half empty.
Mark is shower-fresh when he opens the door – damp hair and pinkish just-shaved face. He clocks my shoes but doesn’t say anything. He kisses me on the cheek and I follow him upstairs into the living room, enjoying how well he wears low-slung jeans.
Theo’s in what looks like a work suit but without the tie and jacket.
He beams at me. ‘Nella, I can’t thank you enough for being here at such short notice. Especially with all that’s going on. How’s your dad?’
‘Itching to get out of hospital.’
‘Tell him to listen to his doctors,’ says Mark sternly. ‘Nothing strenuous, even after he’s out. We don’t want the sutures opening.’
‘Yes, sir.’
That earns me a look.
‘Well, he’s got the wedding to take his mind off things,’ says Theo.
‘Speaking of which,’ says Mark, opening his laptop.
‘Hang on a sec.’ I open my tote bag and take out the tray of galatoboureko. ‘This needs to go in the fridge. It’s the first time I’ve made it, so it won’t be a patch on Mrs Evi’s.’
Mark’s hand pauses on the Pyrex. ‘You made it?’
‘After last night, it’s the least I could do.’
The look on his face floors me, like a stray dog experiencing human kindness for the first time.
I search for a way to lighten the mood. ‘Maybe I should have tried to make tiramisu?’
In an instant, his expression changes from child-like wonder to something much more adult.
He smiles slowly. ‘Mascarpone can be … hazardous.’
‘I wouldn’t know, so I’ll have to take your word for it.’
Theo is looking at us curiously. ‘What do you mean mascarpone can be hazardous?’
‘For the carpet,’ says Mark breezily, his eyes not leaving mine.
‘Yan is very precious about it,’ I add.
‘Right,’ says Theo unsurely. ‘We’ll make sure to be careful. If it’s all the same, can we get started? Tig’s expecting me back for dinner.’
We run through the routine and I can’t believe how improved Theo is. And, by the way he’s grinning, I can tell he finally feels confident.
He cuts his eyes to Mark. ‘What does the expert think?’
‘Pretty good,’ he says.
‘Oh, come on,’ I say. ‘He’s made leaps and bounds.’
‘He’s not quite getting the lift right. There’s a pause where it should just flow.’
‘I know, I know,’ says Theo. ‘I watch that video ten times a day, but the camera doesn’t show where the man’s hands go, so I have to fudge it.’
‘I’ve got an idea,’ says Mark, standing. ‘I’ll demonstrate on Nella, and you film it on your phone. Make sure my hands are in shot.’
He turns to me. ‘You okay to do the lift with me?’
‘Yeah, no worries,’ I say, even though I’ve got a lot of worries because it’s fine plodding around with Theo, who’s too busy counting or looking at his feet to put any feeling into the dance. But this routine is pretty steamy, and I’ve got a malfunctioning Reptilian Brain to contend with.
Mark takes my hand, and places his other hand at the small of my back. I look anywhere except directly at him.
Theo stands behind me so he can film us.
Mark counts us in, then presses his forearm along my waist, bringing the top half of our bodies into contact. We take a few steps, then he lifts me two feet off the ground and does a turn. It’s effortless, and I feel like I’m flying.
The sides of our bodies are glued together, and he feels warm and solid. His breath is soft against my collarbone, and it’s every bit as delicious and awful as I imagined.
He moves his arms subtly to let me know he’s going to put me down, and it’s only when my feet are safely on terra firma that I dare attempt eye contact. Mark, however, is staring straight at Theo.
‘Did you get it?’ he asks.
Is it my imagination, or is he a tiny bit breathless?
‘Yeah, but it would be good to get it from another angle,’ Theo replies.
He positions himself so he can film us side-on.
This time, when Mark takes me into hold, his arm circles tighter around me and the firmer contact makes my breath quicken. I can’t unstick my gaze from his mouth.
Jesus Christ, he has perfect lips.
My body goes exactly where he asks it, and all I can think is how well we fit together – even my logical brain can’t deny it.
Mark releases me, and I take a couple of steps back.
‘I think I’ve got it,’ says Theo. ‘Can you bear to try again with me, Nella?’
‘Of course, no problem.’
Mark cocks his head to the side. ‘Why don’t you film us doing the whole routine and practise using that at home?’
Oh, dear God. Not the whole dance. Not with Mark and his lips.
‘That’s not a bad idea,’ says Theo.
No, it’s a very bad idea. But I can’t say that, so the best I can come up with is: ‘I just need five minutes.’
It’s not that I don’t want to dance with Mark, it’s just I will be a foghorn booming, ‘I would very much like to sleep with this man’.
And the last thing I need is footage of it.
I go to the kitchen and drink some water, then press the cold glass to my cheek.
‘Are you okay?’ Mark’s voice behind me makes me jump.
‘I’m perfect.’ I wait for Mark to move back so I can turn around, but he stays put. If anything, he moves closer.
‘No argument there.’
He reaches forward and takes the glass from my hand. I hear him drink from it, picture his throat working up and down. He’s six inches behind me and my instant arousal shocks me.
Far off, I hear the toilet being flushed, and Mark steps away.
‘We’ll be in the living room when you’re ready.’