Chapter 52
We’re in the kitchen, and only wearing one complete outfit between us. He’s thrown on his jeans, and I’ve nabbed his T-shirt. It hangs lower than my arse, but I discreetly pulled on my knickers that Mark must have thoughtfully hung on the back of a kitchen chair when he removed them.
‘You really don’t like being told there’s something you don’t do well,’ I tell him while he dresses the salad.
‘You told me point blank I didn’t know how to talk dirty.’
‘You make it sound like I questioned your skill as a surgeon.’
He looks at me. ‘I didn’t want to fall short of your expectations.’
I shake my head in bewilderment. ‘Do you not know how exceptionally gifted you are in the sack? I mean, at school you were sort of famous for it …’
That vulnerable expression drifts across his face again, and I want to slap myself. If you’re known for your sexual prowess, it doesn’t matter how good you are, or how well equipped. There’s a lot to live up to.
I hold his eye. ‘My expectations were more than met.’
He nods and turns his attention back to the salad. ‘The dirty talk – it’s not usually my thing, but you seemed to like it.’
I swallow. ‘It was very …effective.’
He offers me wine, but when I decline, he pours us two full glasses of water. Got to stay hydrated, the unspoken subtext.
‘Do you want to eat at the table?’ he asks.
‘You must be joking! I’ll never be able to eat here again.’
He grins. He knew exactly how I’d react to that.
We end up eating in the living room. I’m on the sofa with my plate on my lap, while Mark is opposite me on the floor, his plate on the coffee table. Both of us paranoid about staining Yan’s cream carpet.
I’m about to suggest we treat ourselves to some galatoboureko when there’s a noise from the front door.
We both freeze.
‘That can’t be Yan?’ I whisper.
Mark stands, his body on high alert. I glance around the room. I don’t think there’s anything that screams illicit sex. Although I’m not entirely sure where my bra is.
I stand, too, holding my breath, waiting for the heavy footsteps of my brother up the stairs.
But there’s nothing but silence.
‘I think we’re in the clear,’ says Mark quietly. He goes to check and returns holding a flyer. ‘Just a pizza menu. If that had been Yan, I’d be hobbling out of here with two broken legs.’
‘Don’t be so melodramatic,’ I say. ‘He’d only break one.’ He doesn’t look reassured. ‘He knows about what happened at his black-out party.’
‘When did he find out?’
‘I went to the food tasting yesterday. Jamie the caterer is the one who burst in on us that night. He saw us together at Ally Pally.’
‘And he recognised me all these years later?’
‘You’ve got a memorable face.’
He rubs the back of his neck. ‘Yan knows? And you’re sure he doesn’t want to kneecap me?’
‘He was fine about it. Shocked, but not angry.’ I don’t mention the bit about the cheese cutter. ‘I don’t think he’d be angry about this, either.’
‘There’s a difference between learning about something years later and walking in on his sister being ravished in his own flat.’
I raise an eyebrow. ‘There’s ravishment on the menu tonight, is there?’
‘You think I’m about to kick you out so I can get an early night?’
I check my watch, then look at him shyly. ‘I guess I could stay a little longer.’
‘You’re not going home until you’ve done the washing-up, darling. I can’t be expected to do everything.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Laughing, I get up and pick up his plate.
‘I was joking, Nella!’
I insist on at least starting on the dishes, but Mark comes to stand behind me at the sink and gets very distracting.
‘Fuck the washing-up,’ he orders. He kisses my neck, and one hand sneaks under my T-shirt to caress my breast. With the other, he passes me a tea-towel so I can dry my hands, then walks me backwards until I bump against the kitchen table.
Kissing me softly, he slips a finger inside my underwear.
He finds my clit, and I gasp in pleasure.
‘Just checking,’ he murmurs.
He adds a second finger and I suck in a breath. ‘Checking for what?’
He pulls out a condom from his back pocket. ‘I need you ready so when I bend you over this table, I can take you hard.’
The preparing part doesn’t take long. Certainly not long enough to take off any more clothes.
He unbuttons his jeans, turns me round, slides my underwear partway down my thighs, and guides himself into me.
It’s fast and intense. The table legs judder against the floor as he pushes; his fist bunching my T-shirt to pull me towards him with each unsparing thrust.
I come breathlessly, and he follows seconds later with a full-throated groan.
It’s dark outside, and we’ve been back in his room for a couple of hours.
He’s lying on his back, and I’m curled around him, his chest hair tickling my nose.
One of his arms is wrapped around me, and the other is bent at the elbow under his head.
The only way we could look more like smug, after-glowing lovers is if we were both smoking.
‘You said we wouldn’t be a good match in bed.’
He looks at me confused. ‘What? No, I didn’t.’
‘You did. You said I was too short for you in that first tango lesson with Theo.’
He sighs. ‘A couple of things. First, we were talking about dancing, not sex.’
‘Yes, but everyone knows the two are linked.’
He starts to quietly laugh. ‘Secondly, and this is the crucial detail you missed, I had a semi at the time. I needed to shut down that conversation really fucking fast. In front of your brother and your future brother-in-law, I did not want to get a raging boner.’
I lift my head to look at him. ‘Seriously?’
‘You do realise you’re hot as fuck, right?’
After everything we’ve done tonight, I can’t believe this is what makes me blush.
‘And you always were. The feeling was mutual, I think,’ he adds softly. ‘That’s kinda always been the problem between us.’
I nod, knowing he can feel my head move. It’s been that simple all along. And he’s been brave enough to say it.
It makes me readier to acknowledge the other shadow looming on the horizon. This one not about the past, but about the future.
‘Why Venezuela? Isn’t it very dangerous?’
He jerks his head towards me, and his chest rises and falls before he speaks.
‘That’s not the reason I’m going if that’s what you think.
I might crave volatility and adrenaline more than I should, but I don’t have a death wish or anything.
The reason it’s Venezuela specifically is because I had a colleague from Caracas who told me how bad things were and how he was trying to get a volunteering programme off the ground.
The red tape was a nightmare – it took a year to sort out all the paperwork and visas.
He moved heaven and earth to let me delay my departure – they’re a man down, now. I promised him two years. I owe him.’
Is he gently telling me he can’t not go? Does he think I’m asking him to stay?
‘I was just curious,’ I tell him lightly. ‘It’s really admirable,’ I add, meaning it.
‘If I don’t do it now, when will I?’ he asks – for my benefit, or his? ‘I need to do it before I get sucked into private practice, and the money’s too good to give up.’
‘And before you’ve got kids in private school and a mortgage on a five-bed in prime Surrey commuter belt.’
I cringe at how asinine I sound.
‘I’m not sure I’m the settling-down type,’ he says.
Someone will convince you otherwise, I want to tell him.
I get a flash of his future five years from now.
Walking to his assigned parking space in the private wing of a London hospital.
Tie loosened, shirt sleeves rolled up, jacket flung on the back seat of a brand-new Audi.
A smooth, traffic-free drive back to Commuter-Belt-Ville, beautiful blonde wife in yoga pants, figure still perfect after two children, greeting him on the circular drive with a Whisky Sour and the promise of athletic sex once the nanny has put the kids to bed.
A pang of loss catches me in the throat. Mark claims he’s not cut out for marriage, but with such a prize on offer, there’s a sharp, determined woman out there who’ll talk him round; a woman who’d rather cut off her arm than let Mark slip through her fingers.
‘I should get going,’ I say, trying to sound casual.
‘Did I say something wrong?’ he asks. ‘I must sound like a tedious twat, banging on about my charity work that I don’t like talking about, but that somehow, everyone is aware of.’
I smile. ‘You’re not a tedious twat. I just need to get home at a decent hour so no one asks what I’ve been up to.’
I get up, and the rocking motion makes the bed creak. Then there’s a crack and a thud and the bed legs give way.
We both start laughing.
‘Oh my God, you’re going to be insufferable,’ I tell him.
‘I’m really not,’ he protests. ‘Because how the fuck am I going to explain the broken bed to Yan?’
Once I’ve located my clothes – finding them is like an Easter egg hunt because they’re scattered all over the flat – he insists on walking me to my car.
‘It’s literally a few feet down the road,’ I say, as we hit the pavement.
‘I fancy the fresh air.’
‘Well, I hope you enjoyed it because here we are.’ I beep the car open and the lights flash twice.
He leans against the driver door and pulls me to him. ‘I’m driving to Leeds tomorrow to check on my flat before I hand over the keys to the lettings agent.’
‘You’re renting it out?’
And not selling up, I want to ask. Does that mean he imagines coming back?
‘Yeah, I signed a two-year lease. I’ll rethink it after that. It’s a terrible time to sell.’ Of course, there are practical reasons for keeping it. ‘Theo’s coming up the day after so we can do some stag-lite partying with old uni friends.’
‘Sounds busy.’
He nods. ‘I’m not back in London until the night before the wedding. Theo and I are staying at the venue the night before, so maybe we can see each other then?’
‘I think Tig will need me in Ealing the night before the wedding. Plus, Theo will probably want your undivided attention.’
‘That leaves …’
‘The wedding night,’ I finish.
My heart sinks. Tig and Theo’s happy day is going to be the last time Mark and I see each other.
‘If you need anything beforehand,’ he says, ‘call me. Otherwise …’
‘See you at the altar.’
And twenty-four hours after that, he’ll be gone. Just like he was fifteen years ago.
Only this time, I’ll know just how much I’m losing, and the hole he leaves behind will be so much harder to fill.