39. Carl
39. Carl
I want her so much it takes my breath away. I lean back to look at her, rub my finger across her scars. And then I remember – my own scars, or sort of scars. I pull away.
‘I need to show you something.’
She looks at me quizzically. ‘Okay,’ she says, slowly sitting back down on the bed.
Suddenly nervous, I pull my bow tie loose and throw it on the back of the chair. I loosen the cuffs of my shirt, fumbling as I unfasten the cufflinks. I put them on the table, then I undo the buttons and throw my shirt on the back of the chair too.
I look at her one more time, then I slowly turn around so that she has a clear view of my back, praying that when I turn back to see her face again, she will still be looking at me like she is right now. That she won’t be disappointed. That she won’t have changed her mind.
Squaring my shoulders, I stand still. I focus my gaze on the polished wooden hotel door with its laminated fire instructions pinned in the middle. I stare and stare until my vision is blurred.
When I first started having the tattooing done, I didn’t really think about anyone seeing it. It was only ever meant for me. It definitely never crossed my mind that Sarah would see the poppies.
What if she hates tattoos? Danny didn’t have any – is that why? Not knowing what she thinks is agony. The clamouring voices in my head start up their chatter again.
She hates it. Of course she hates it. The voices shout louder and louder until, after a few minutes, I hear her get up off the bed and walk slowly towards me. She stops. Oh God, she’s going to leave.
She must be about to. Because otherwise she would have said something by now, wouldn’t she?
She is so close I feel her warm breath on my neck.
Still, she says nothing.
Then her hand is on my back. Her fingers start to map the outline of each poppy, and her touch is like a soothing ointment, healing old wounds. I take a deep breath and close my eyes.
The tips of her fingers work slowly, deliberately, as they trace the shapes of the flowers. Her touch, as she reaches the centre of my back, is so intensely pleasurable that I gasp out loud. I want to spin around and take her in my arms, but I daren’t move for fear of breaking the spell.
It’s as if, until this moment, nothing has ever truly felt real.
‘They’re beautiful,’ she says.
I feel her hands on my shoulders as she gently turns me to face her. I smile at her with relief, and she smiles back at me.
‘Five poppies,’ I tell her. ‘One for each of them. Fridge and Squadron and Tom and Caroline and Caroline’s –’ I break off, unable to say the words. ‘And Assami.’
I lift her chin so that she is looking straight at me. I look into her eyes. Eyes that burn with the same desire that burns in mine.
Sarah slowly spins me around again, and this time I feel her lips brush against my skin as she kisses each poppy in turn. Every kiss is tantalizingly soft and slow, so that by the time she puts her hand on my shoulder and turns me to face her, my whole body is aching for her.
‘They’re beautiful,’ she says again.
‘You’re beautiful.’
Sarah walks backwards, leading me by the hand, and sits down on the edge of the bed. Somewhere downstairs George Michael starts to sing ‘Careless Whisper’.
We listen for a moment, then Sarah smiles and holds out her arms.
‘Come here,’ she says.
I sit down next to her and she reaches forward to kiss me. I kiss her back. I want her like I’ve never wanted any girl before, but suddenly the weight of that longing, the strength of the love I feel for her, makes me pull back.
Feeling her body pressing into mine, I think of her leaning against me for support as we waited for the lift. Her body is still fragile.
‘Are you sure?’ I ask. ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’
‘The only way you’ll hurt me,’ she says, ‘is if you stop.’
She gets up from the bed and stands in front of me. She pulls the straps of her dress over her shoulders and lets it fall to the floor. Then she just stands there in her lacey silk underwear, looking at me, daring me to make the next move.
I take a deep breath, feel the rush of air being sucked into my lungs, then slowly let it out again. She is unbelievably, exquisitely beautiful.
Getting up from the bed, I step towards her, my heart beating more wildly with every step I take, until it feels like it used to when I was out on patrol, high on adrenaline, and afraid of what might happen next.
I put my arms around her neck, feel the softness of her skin next to mine.
Pulling away slightly, she twists her arms behind her back to release her bra, but I get there first and hold my hands steady for a moment before unfastening it myself.
Then I lift her into my arms and lay her down on the bed. Slowly, I run my fingers up her calves, her knees, her thighs, until I reach the slippery silk of her knickers. I leave them there for a moment, feeling her skin beneath the fabric, before pulling them down and dropping them on to the floor.
I stand, step out of my boxers, then climb on to the bed. Carefully, I lower myself on top of her, and as my body closes over hers, I feel a pull of desire so low and so deep inside my body I ache with the intensity of it. I’ve never felt this before. But whatever it is, it’s controlling me now.
Looking deep into her eyes, I move a wispy strand of hair away from her face, kiss the scars on her forehead, then the bruises beneath her eyes. Then I kiss her neck, her chest, her stomach.
I keep kissing her until I reach the inside of her thighs. I hear Sarah murmur. I want to make her feel special in a way I never have with any of the women I’ve taken to bed before her.
With them, I realize, I was only ever going through the motions. Sex was something that was no more meaningful than an exercise drill.
Magazine release.
Pistol grip tight.
I never meant to be a git. I just didn’t do intimacy. I never knew how. Never wanted to. But this? This feels easy. This feels amazing.
Slowly, I kiss my way back up her stomach, her breasts, her neck, savouring every moment, before she pulls me towards her, and I mumble how beautiful she is before my mouth finds hers.
The first touch of our tongues is slow and tender. I run the tips of my fingers over her stomach, searching out the contours of her body, and the kissing becomes more intense.
I reach down to touch her, move my fingers between her legs and let them linger at the top of her thighs. I feel her shuddering beneath me and know she is ready.
‘Is this okay?’ I ask before I slide into her.
She smiles, nods, then bites her lower lip and wraps her legs around me, urgently pulling my body against hers. Her muscles tense. Every bit of me wants to be deeper inside her, to let go of everything. I try to hold myself back, to go slow, but she arches her back and shivers, and when I hear her moan again it’s too much.
I move up and down inside her until my brain lets go of all the fear and confusion. For once, my mind cuts me some slack. It makes room for me to focus on feeling good.
Sarah cries out, and as she does, I close my eyes and let the wonderful thrill of release rush all the way through me. And finally, I understand. I understand what it is to completely abandon yourself to someone.
To love someone.
I think of all those hearts I have been careless with in the past. I will never be careless with Sarah’s.
Afterwards, I roll on to my back and she lies with her head on my shoulder, one leg flung over mine. Her arm is draped across my chest as if it’s the most natural, casual thing in the world. Sarah’s arm. My chest.
She is here. In my bed. In my arms. Her hair tangled over my chest.
I breathe her in, the ridiculously lovely smell that is Sarah. I tell myself to remember this, like I trained myself to do as a child when Mum was on good form.
Then I dare to hope that I don’t need to control my thoughts, school my emotions, because there will be other nights like this. Nights when I take it for granted that she is lying next to me and that we are together.
She is breathing deeply, her cheeks are flushed.
‘There’s never been anyone like you,’ I tell her.
Because there hasn’t.
She kisses me.
Suddenly I’m exhausted, but I’m fighting every urge to sleep, blinking to stay awake. Because never, in all my days on this earth, have I ever come close to feeling as happy as I feel right now, and I don’t want it to end.
We lie there for a while, our bodies folded together. Then she reaches up to kiss my cheek before settling her head back down on my chest. She runs her fingers over the scar on my stomach.
‘I remember this scar,’ she says, reaching down to kiss it. ‘I remember changing the dressing …’ She pauses. ‘I wanted to tell you then –’
My mind flicks back to that bleak Christmas morning, waking up to the new reality that Fridge was dead. To Sarah changing the dressing on my stomach. Her fingers as cool and soft as they are now.
‘Tell me what?’ I ask.
‘How much you meant to me, how relieved I was that you survived.’
She rests her hand on my cheek, and I reach up to press my own hand down on top of hers.
‘But then the moment passed,’ she continues. ‘I could tell you were in pain, even though you insisted you weren’t, and you were so heartbroken to have lost Fridge, the time didn’t feel right to say anything. I checked back in on you at the end of my shift, but you were fast asleep. So I went back to the mess to meet up with Danny, and that’s when I saw for the first time that something wasn’t right with him.’
A shadow crosses her face, and I kiss her hand.
‘The weeks passed,’ she continues. ‘He got worse and worse, and he needed me more and more. And then Squadron died, and then Caroline. There were so many times I wanted to find you and tell you. But as the weeks wore on, Danny relied on me more. I didn’t know how to leave him.’ She kisses me on the lips. ‘I should have left him. I should have told you.’
I should have told her too. That night before she left the camp, when she came to ask me to look for Danny with her. I should have told her then.
I pull her close and hold her tight.
All that time we’ve lost. All that pain we could have avoided.