Memory Eleven
MEMORY ELEVEN
MARIE
A girl friend I went to school with had trained to become a child psychologist and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t give her a call the following day to seek some advice, advice which I knew already.
There’s no right or wrong way to do any of this. But those kids will attach quick if you’re consistently there. Be prepared for what that entails.
That was the difficult conversation. The easier one was with my parents. Bernadette had told them where I was and then announced that she’d join me in London that week, which I think had done something to settle my mother’s jitters. My dad read me the riot act at leaving work so suddenly, but then told me he liked Grant and he wasn’t a bad choice of husband.
My mother flew into wedding planning mode. At that point I switched off and made faces at Max and Callum who were sitting on the stairs, listening to half of my phone call.
Grant and I had decided not to tell the children any untruths. Yes, I was his girlfriend. Yes, I was staying in his bedroom and they needed to knock before they came in still. Yes, I was going to live with them – which went down well but that was what bribery in the form of pyjama parties did, especially after you’ve had months of pissed off nannies and an aunt who should be living with Cruella de Vil and giving her lessons.
But pyjama parties were fun. We raided the freezer for chips and sausages for dinner and had the snacky things that Grant had picked up when he got the ice cream – sausage rolls and party food. It was Saturday, so I’d decided that come hell or high water I was cooking a proper Sunday lunch and that would be a tradition going forward.
I was a fan of traditions. Sunday lunch was a big one. Eggnog at Christmas was another, as was mass on Christmas Eve. Spoiling someone with a birthday was another huge one and we had Jackson’s birthday coming up and there were new traditions to make which these kids didn’t have.
The end of the conversation with my parents was positive. They were slightly concerned that I’d headed across the ocean for a man with four kids, but given that in the previous twenty-eight years I hadn’t made a stupid decision, they were supportive of the fact I was owed an impulsive moment.
“Are you going to marry our dad?” Max asked me as soon as the receiver was back in the cradle.
I nodded. “I am.”
“So will you be our mum?” He looked afraid and I wondered what that was about.
“No. Rachael will always be your mum. I’m not going to take her place. But I’m going to help look after you when you need someone to do that.”
Max nodded solemnly. “Can you help with Callum? I’m too big to need a mum, but he really does.”
Oh honey, I thought, you need a mum far more than you realise. And a dad. I’d already roasted Grant this morning for even thinking he was going to sit down with the newspaper by himself when we had breakfast to make and kids to entertain so they didn’t destroy another part of the garden – although there was a lot of garden to consider. The house and its estate were huge. I’d think about that later.
“Of course I can help with Callum. That’s kind of why I’m here.” Again, another truth.
“But you’re getting married to Dad. We’ll be in the way.” His little jaw was tense.
“You will never be in the way and if you are it’s probably because you’re trying to steal from the fridge when I’m trying to get the milk out like this morning when I trod on you.” True story. “And when I chose your dad I chose you too.”
Eyes brightened, but they were still wary.
I walked over and picked Callum up. He collapsed straight into me, the little bundle of not quite baby boy. He needed to be potty trained and to graduate to a wider variety of food, which I’d sent Grant out to get with strict instructions not to deviate from. He’d never made a roast dinner either, so today was going to be a learning curve for him which had started with Vacuuming one-oh-one.
“Shall we go and see what Jacks and Claire have made?” I’d set up a craft table on the patio outside with glue, glitter and a load of old boxes and paper, with an abundance of never opened felt tips. I expected them to be covered in glitter especially – there was a reason for doing this outside.
He nodded, still sombre, still worried.
Time. It would take time. But that was what we had.
It was a week of tests with more laughter than I’d anticipated. I wasn’t as exhausted as I’d thought I’d be, mainly because looking after three children and a toddler wasn’t as full on as six younger siblings had been. By Saturday, we had a tidier house, a very big bedroom for three children, and a hotel in London booked for the next week so we could sightsee and house hunt.
There had been less sex, for all the obvious reasons, but it hadn’t come to a stop and I still couldn’t keep my hands off Grant when he was close by and no one was looking our way, although I was making a point of showing affection in front of the kids. Hugs were good. Kisses were nice. We said nice things to each other. We didn’t get cross when something went wrong. We laughed a lot. Dad read bedtime stories (because I made him), and he also learned very quickly how to cook, because by God, those boys would not grow up expecting their future partners to do everything for them.
We repaired the garden that’d been traumatised and we planted roses because they’d been Rachael’s favourite flower.
We told the children about going to London. We read books with them about it, the sights we’d see and explained that if we lived there during the week they could go to school there and we’d come home for the school holidays and some weekends.
We had bedtime routines by the third day and morning routines and time for reading and den building and then reading in the dens. I allowed Grant to read the newspaper each morning, but Max wanted to read it with him, and then so did Jacks and then Claire felt left out, so a new tradition was created.
I’d been in the country for nine days and I was now a different person. A person wandering round an almighty big house, Georgian with five floors, beautifully restored and very, very empty.
No carpets, furniture or curtains.
A blank canvas.
“This place is nice, Marie.” Bernadette nodded in approval. “The best one we’ve seen.”
She’d joined us in London because she had nothing better to do at the moment. She worked as a children’s illustrator and was mid-project which meant she was procrastinating.
Procrastinating meant she was with us, which was helpful as it gave another sensible if rather mad adult for the kids to get to know, and chance for Grant and me to spend some time together without four small pairs of ears.
“I really like it. It’s got space. We can both have an office, it’s walking distance from where we both work and the schools nearby are good.” We’d seen six properties in two days. This was the last unless we asked to view more, but they’d be further out.
“You get your own floor as well. It’s like one of those houses we used to draw when we were kids with secret rooms and staircases.” She’d taken out her sketchbook and drawn a few bits that I suspected would end up in one of Callum’s picture books.
I opened a cupboard door and found a space with another cupboard. “Here’s another one.”
“Let me look.”
I was elbowed out of the way. Some things never changed.
“When are you going to get married?” The question was abrupt. “Mam was going on about it when I phoned her last night. She was talking about how many people would be there.”
“That’s not happening.”
“What’s not happening.” Grant appeared, kids with him, Callum in his arms.
“A big wedding.”
He looked at us curiously. “You can have a big wedding if you want. After these last few days you can have whatever you want.”
Claire ran at me, wrapping her arms around my waist. Aside from Callum, she’d been the clingiest the quickest. She wasn’t used to a woman around her who showed affection or helped her with her hair. I’d noticed already that she was copying me, which was nice.
“Can I be bridesmaid?”
I nodded. “Of course. You and Bernadette will be bridesmaids.”
“And Mary’s daughters, and cousin Criona, and Theresa, and cousin Elizabeth’s three girls.” Bernie shook her head. “Sounds hellish.”
“What does hellish mean?” That was Max.
“Not very nice, but you have to be fourteen before you can say it.” This was a newly made up rule.
“Like when you said the f-word yesterday?”
That was why I’d made up a new rule.
“Exactly like that. Fourteen and only in certain situations, until you’re old enough to use your judgement.” I glared around the room.
No one answered back although Bernie was trying not to laugh. I was not known for the purity of my language.
“When are you going to get married? Tomorrow?” This was Claire again, jumping up and down slightly. “Then we get to keep you.”
Max didn’t look as keen. Jackson was mildly more interested.
Grant put a hand on Max’s shoulder. “What do you think, Maxwell?”
Max shrugged. “Do I have to wear a suit?”
“No.” That wasn’t what this was about. “You can wear something new and smart.” I looked back at Grant. “Same for you.”
“Can you get married tomorrow?” This was Claire again.
“It doesn’t work like than, Clairey. You have to say twenty-eight days before you get married. So if we said to the registrar tomorrow that we want to get married, it’d be four weeks after that before we could.” I fussed with her hair. The bob suited her, as did the fringe. She loved it too. Tomorrow we were going clothes shopping which I was probably looking forward to more than her. She and Bernie and Callum were coming with me, while Grant took Jacks and Max. Then we were taking the clipper up and down the Thames and going to see Buckingham Palace from the outside. We were also picking up the photos from New York as well.
“Why don’t you register it tomorrow. Have a quiet wedding.” Bernadette was eyeing up Grant. She’d challenged him several times about his intentions, and I knew she’d had a good long talk with him the night before that I hadn’t been privy to. “Big weddings are stressful and let’s face it, you have enough stress right now.”
I looked at Grant who didn’t look in the slightest bit perturbed.
“I think that’s a good idea. If that’s the soonest we can do it, then why not?” His gaze was on me, only me. I felt the shivers that were still unfamiliar. Every touch I received from him was deliberate, like he knew what it would do to me. I lived for those touches. I lived for the hours that we had uninterrupted when the children were (finally) asleep.
“I think we should. But let’s not tell our parents until after.” I waited for his reaction.
“Fine with me. You, me, the hooligans and Bernadette. We’ll need another witness. Max isn’t quite old enough to do that.” His focus was still only on me.
“How old do you have to be,” Max asked, growing more interested.
“Eighteen,” Bernadette told him. “So you’ve got ten more years of growing. Why don’t I take you sprogletts to get some food. Milkshakes maybe?” She looked slyly at me and then Grant. “I think your dad and Marie need to have another look round this house.”
“I like this house,” Jackson announced. “I know where I want my bedroom.”
This was big. He was petrified of the upstairs at the house in Oxfordshire and wouldn’t talk about why, but it was obviously related to his mother’s death, which was utterly understandable. He slept with Max, although we’d moved his mattress into Max's room now. They were sharing a bedroom at the hotel in the suite we were in, Claire and Callum in another room now.
“Where? Do you want to show me?” Grant’s attention was immediately caught.
That delayed their fast food and milkshake treat by another half an hour as the three of them had requests for different rooms, something they hadn’t shown any interest in with the other houses.
One floor had four decent sized bedrooms and a large room that could be used as a playroom for now and a lounge when they became teenagers. One room had an ensuite which could be Claire’s and the boys could share the bathroom. They were all over that floor with their enthusiasm, Max and Jackson having a tussle over bedrooms because both of them wanted the same one.
“Right, hooligans, let’s get burgers and milkshakes. Give me Callum. He can spend some quality time with his Auntie Bernie.” She held her arms out to take Callum off Grant. “His trolley’s downstairs, isn’t it?”
“You don’t have to take all of them, Bernie,” Grant looked concerned and I wondered if he felt he was taking advantage.
“We’ll be fine. I’ll see you back at the hotel after. Go and have a meal out or something fun. I’ll keep them alive.” She ruffled Max’s hair which he didn’t like, glaring up at her.
“I thought aunts were mean,” Claire said, climbing off the windowsill where she’d been perched. “You’re not mean so how can you be our aunt?”
“Because some aunts are fun and spoil you and then hand you back to your parents, so really I’m mean to your dad and Marie. Let’s go – last out of the door doesn’t get any fries.” She started to walk out of the room, carrying Callum carefully in her arms and was quickly overtaken by the other three.
I then wondered if I’d gone deaf.
Quietness lay like a fresh carpet between us, our focus only on each other. Grant leaned back against a wall, one foot crossed over the other, hands holding the opposite elbow. “Do you like this house? Do you see yourself living here?”
I nodded, regarding him carefully. “I do. It feels like home even though there’s nothing in it.”
“It was a developer’s project. They’ve run out of money to finish it off before selling it, so it’s a good price and they want a quick sale.” He kept his eyes on me. “If this is the one for you, then we go for it.”
“It’s the one the children like best too. The school down the road has a really good reputation.” I’d done a little research myself.
“It isn’t a private school.”
I shrugged. “I didn’t go to private school. It’ll help them with their social skills if they’re with different children and you don’t want them to grow up spoilt. Try them at the school down the road – if it doesn’t work there’s a decent private prep school a bit further.”
“We can talk more about it later. Or tomorrow. I’d rather talk about a wedding.” He beckoned me over.
I hesitated. “Don’t let Bernadette blackmail you into anything. If it’s too soon - ”
“It’s not too soon. Come here.” He beckoned me over again.
This time I didn’t hesitate.
I walked into his arms, my heart beating in a rhythm that made the rest of my body happy. This felt like coming home, every single time.
“It’s not too soon. I’d have married you in New York if we’d have had time. But if you want a big wedding, then that’s what we’ll have, I don’t care. I just want to be stuck with you.” He ran his fingers through my hair so very gently.
“Registry office it is then. We’ll probably end up with a reception at some point.” There was no way we’d get out of that.
“Our parents can organise that. We can just turn up and drink champagne. Bernadette can baby-sit.”
“She’ll love you forever for that. My sister is a big champagne drinker.” I nuzzled the top of his chest, looking up at him.
Somewhere, the kiss started, soft for the first few seconds then quickening, deepening, like wading into the Pacific Ocean knowing that you could dive forever and never run out of water.
Hands furiously searched for skin, clothes undone, material pulled away. Grant’s mouth fell to my neck, kissing down towards the softer skin above my breasts.
“Where’s the estate agent?” I was aware of how exposed we were. The front door wasn’t locked and I had no idea what the arrangements were with the woman who had shown us round initially.
“She was in the house next door. She said to shout for her when we were done. I’m not done yet, Marie. I need to see how it feels to fuck my future wife in our future house.” He swung me round so my back was against the wall and I decided not to care about being interrupted.
He undid a couple of buttons at the top of my dress, enough to be able to loosen it, exposing my breast. It wasn’t a dress I needed a bra with, which was fortunate, given the current situation.
“This has been driving me mad all day, knowing you didn’t have anything on underneath.” He pulled his lips away from my nipple. “You have no idea how much I want you.”
“How did you know?” He hadn’t been in the same room as me when I was dressing this morning.
“Marie, there isn’t anything I don’t notice about you. I’m crazily, madly in love with you and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.” He slipped his hand between my legs, pushing up my dress and angling his fingers into my underwear.
I knew he’d find me wet and ready, my body already felt ready to explode.
My panties were lost to the floor, my skirt pushed up around my waist. I fumbled open his jeans, pushing them and his underwear far enough down to free his cock, running my fist up and down it.
He was hard and big and my body was so ready to have him inside me. Grant lifted me up enough so he could angle his cock at my entrance, and then he was pushing inside me, the gasp from both of us one of relief.
I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, fully at his mercy as he fucked me against the wall, no heed for taking it slowly or gently. This wasn’t a romantic session of love making, this was take-it-when-you-can-get-it and I-can’t-keep-my-hands-off-you sex and I was here for it.
“Now come on my cock like a good girl,” he whispered the words into my ear. “I need to feel your pussy clamp around me. Make me come.”
I wasn’t far off. Two more deep, hard thrusts and I was spasming around him, feeling the hot pulse of his orgasm pour inside me. Words spilled out of my mouth, incoherent and babbled, my world being spun by him again, another time.
He slowed, holding me tight against the wall, both of us breathing rapidly. Another kiss, slower, less needy.
“I wasn’t planning on that.” He lowered me to the floor, then ran a finger along my cheek. “You look beautiful when you’re freshly fucked.”
“I need my brain back before we move.”
He grinned, smug. Pleased with himself.
“You needn’t look so happy with yourself.” I slapped his arm then tucked my boobs away, doing up the buttons and hoping I had some tissues in my bag.
“I think I’ve got every right to after making you come like that.” He did up his jeans and straightened his shirt. “In our new bedroom.”
“It is, isn’t it?” This was the room we’d called as our own, overlooking the small courtyard garden. “I feel a bit less guilty about that.”
“Better than it being the next floor.”
“That would be wrong. Are you seriously going to buy this?” I did have tissues in my bag. There was a god. I cleaned myself up, which must’ve looked utterly devastatingly attractive to Grant, but it was his fault.
“Yes. I am. It shouldn’t take long to go through and I’ll see if a rush can be put on it. It’d be nice to be here before we get married. In four weeks.” He was looking at me as if I was about to change my mind.
“Four weeks. We’ll see what’s in store after that.”