Chapter 12
TWELVE
By the time Zack arrives, the house is in a state of extremely pleasant chaos. It’s full of teenagers and noise and clutter, which is exactly the way I like it.
Marcy, Sophie, Dan, Rose and Sam are all here, preparing for their night at the alleged music festival. James left earlier, planning to drive there for an hour or so later, along with Miranda and baby Evan. I offered to look after Evan for the night to give them some time off together, but he said they were happy just ‘dipping in’. I’m a bit disappointed – Evan is hard work but adorable, and a huge amount of fun to sit for.
I’ve made a feast of pizza and garlic bread, arranging it all on the kitchen table with a big bowl of salad and a range of sauces. I’ve been experimenting with ’nduja recently, because I’m wild and crazy like that, and am especially pleased with the spicy dip they are plunging the pizza crusts into.
Some of them are sitting at the table like civilised humans; others are lurking around holding slices in their hands, too hyped to be still. Dan is standing on his skateboard as he eats, which is not an unusual scenario. Someone has put music on their phone, and everyone is shouting over it. Like I said, chaos.
It’s so loud I don’t even hear Zack come in, only noticing when Bear barrels into the kitchen, tail wagging and nose twitching. I quickly push everything into the centre of the table to avoid a Labrador raid, and he looks up at me in disappointment.
His human follows him in, gazing around at the carnage and smiling. He’s wearing what looks suspiciously like pyjama trousers paired with a black T-shirt. I stare at him and he says: “What? You said casual. I was worried my jeans might be too posh! Have I violated the dress code?”
“Nah,” I say, “you’ll do. I’m surprised you’re not wearing your elf slippers.”
“So am I. I should have brought them with me really.”
Marcy springs over to give her dad a kiss on the cheek, leaving a trail of glitter on his skin from the butterfly face paint she’s wearing. She’s gone full festival girl and I hope she’s not disappointed when she realises she’ll mainly be sitting on a hay bale while middle-aged men sing about cider.
Their overnight gear is scattered around the room in random heaps of sleeping bags, backpacks and tents, and the whole place has the feel of a base camp for an especially badly planned expedition. Luckily they’re only going to a dairy farm a mile away, not scaling Everest.
I make Zack a plate of food, going heavy on the salad because I’ve noticed he eats disgustingly healthily – in fact he doesn’t eat much at all, and I always want to feed him up. I add a dollop of the ’nduja dip and a slice of margherita with fresh parmesan shavings.
“Try that,” I say, pointing at the dip.
He does as he is told, swirling a slice of red pepper into it, and the look on his face when he takes a bite is eminently gratifying.
“Oh, Lord,” he says, once he’s finished chewing. “That tastes so good it should probably be illegal.”
“We aim to please,” I reply, smiling. I love cooking for people, which is really lucky given the fact that I run a café. But I especially love it when a new recipe goes down well – it’s just very, very satisfying seeing people’s reactions. Unless that reaction is ‘yuck, that’s disgusting’.
There is a temporary increase in the hubbub as the youngsters prepare to leave – a last-minute flurry of ‘I just need my power bank’ and ‘is it going to rain?’ and ‘has someone got the marshmallows for the campfire?’
Sophie and Marcy are driving there with the heavy gear, and the rest walking with rucksacks. It seems highly unlikely that this operation will go smoothly, which is proved right as soon as they try to actually go. There are two false starts where someone runs back inside because they’ve forgotten the loo roll and then Marcy’s neck cushion, and one more when Sam realises he’s left behind his gin. Just when I think they’re finally done, Sophie dashes back through the door.
“What did you forget?” I ask.
“This,” she says, coming over to give me a hug. “Thanks for the pizza. Have a nice night!”
This, of course, is very sweet, and leaves me with even more of a smile on my face than Zack liking my ’nduja dip.
Once she’s skittered out again, Zack and I both stand still in the kitchen, listening out.
“Do you think they’ve finally gone?” he asks, head cocked to one side.
“I think they have… we can finally drop some ecstasy and have a middle-aged rave to the sounds of Now That’s What I Call Music 15 …”
“Why specifically 15?”
“Because it’s got Baby I Don’t Care on it by Transvision Vamp – that’s brilliant to dance to!”
“You know exactly which songs are on each Now That’s What I Call Music album?”
“Don’t be daft – only from the first one through to about the thirtieth… I gave up after that.”
He shakes his head and laughs, then helps me clear the table. I throw Bear a small slice of carrot, which he snatches from the air with way too much enthusiasm. I think he looks disappointed when he realises what it is, and I give his ears a rub to compensate.
I wrap up the leftover pizza and pop it in the fridge, and Zack stacks the dishwasher while I prepare more snacks. Heaven forbid we run out of snacks – the sky would probably fall in.
It feels strangely quiet in here now that the kids have all left, and I tell myself off when I feel a twinge of nervousness. I have nothing to feel nervous about – I am in my own home, with a man who I enjoy spending time with. I might have the occasional less-than-pure thought about him, but that doesn’t mean anything should be awkward between us.
It’s a good pep talk, and it almost works – except when we make our way into the living room, and he sits next to me on the sofa, I almost squeal out loud when his thigh brushes against me. It’s not a weird place to sit – the sofa is right across from the TV and the best place to view it from. It’s just that I maybe expected him to take one of the armchairs instead.
I shuffle up a bit, and put a bowl of popcorn in between us as a chaperone. I press the button on the side of the sofa that makes the recliner bit come up, and he looks delighted as he does the same. Simple pleasures.
“What do you want to watch?” he asks, as I pass him a blanket. It’s not cold at all, but there’s just something cosy about having a blanket while you watch the telly isn’t there? It’s more about snuggle value than warmth.
“Something really scary.”
“Why? Are you hoping I scream like a girl?”
“Well, that would be an amusing extra bonus – but mainly because I really love horror movies, but I’m too much of a scaredy cat to watch them when I’m on my own.”
“Surely these guys would protect you?” he says, gesturing behind to my cardboard cut-outs of Chris, Henry and Daniel.
“You’d think so, but they’re incredibly passive for action heroes.”
“Lazy swines. So, what was your favourite scary film from when we were kids? I remember being absolutely petrified by The Shining .”
“Oh God, yes,” I reply, grimacing. “I didn’t even see that until I was about sixteen and it was horrifying. I was very partial to Poltergeist – still am, actually. Plus The Lost Boys – I loved that one! And The Fly – the effects look dated now, but back in the day it was so frightening…”
“Yeah – especially that bit where all his flesh is disintegrating and his fly face emerges, and poor Geena Davis is screaming her head off! Still gives me the shivers now!”
“We could watch one of those, I suppose, for old times’ sake. Or there’s the sequel to The Shining – I haven’t seen that, have you?”
He agrees, and within minutes we are settled and ready. The lights are low for extra scariness, and we’re both comfy beneath our blankets, ready to be terrified. We are not disappointed – it is a tense watch. There are lots of creepy bits and a few jump scares, and we keep shocking Bear by letting out our own yelps.
Once it’s over, Zack says: “Wow. That was… intense. Can we watch something else now? Something mellow and nice to help my heart rate steady?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know… something that doesn’t feature evil immortals driving around in camper vans sucking out people’s life essence, maybe?”
“Um, how do you feel about Paddington ? I mean, Nicole Kidman is pretty scary in it, but mainly it’s nice?”
“Perfect. Just what Doctor Sleep ordered.”
We both take what is politely called a ‘comfort break’ – in my case about my millionth, because, you know, three kids and middle-age. I let Bear out to do the same, and laugh as he mooches around the garden, pushing an old football around with his nose for a while before deciding to just pee on it instead. It’s been a pleasant day, weather-wise, but I notice that it’s started to rain and a strong breeze is stirring the branches of the cherry trees. I’m extremely glad not to be spending the night in a tent.
I look up at the clock, and see that it is still only half past nine. It was a long movie, but we started early. I let Bear back in and stifle a yawn, realising that I am indeed pretty tired. I’m usually in bed by ten, because most mornings I am up bright and early opening the café.
“I’ll just stay for another half hour or so,” Zack announces when I walk back into the living room. “Get myself calm enough for the long walk back to the inn. Don’t know about you but I’m whacked.”
“I know, me too! I feel like if I do an especially slow blink it might turn into an eight-hour nap… not that I ever get those anymore.”
“You don’t sleep well?” he asks, as I sit down beside him.
“No. I’m told it’s hormones. They seem to be responsible for everything from a bad night’s kip to world hunger. You?”
“Same. Though not sure if it’s the hormones. Mainly I think it’s my brain – I have a lot of trouble switching it off. I’ve been better since I’ve been here, though. Last night I managed a whole six uninterrupted hours, which is pretty much unheard of.”
“Isn’t this the most old-person conversation ever?” I say, frowning. “Young people never ask each other how they slept, do they? Now I feel like I start most chats with ‘did you sleep well?’ It’s like the holy grail when you’re older, a good night’s sleep!”
“I know,” he replies, smiling. “And it’s only going to get worse… before long we’ll be comparing blood pressure pills and discussing the waiting lists for hip replacements.”
I have been feeling a few twinges in my hip recently – I suppose a combination of being a teensy bit (okay, almost a stone) overweight and having a job that involves being on my feet all day. I shudder slightly, and say: “Enough! This is even scarier than Doctor Sleep . I need to fill my mind with cute bears from darkest Peru!”
“You’re right. And this has been nice, Connie.”
“Talking about our declining health?”
He shrugs. “Maybe that’s part of it – I tend to spend a lot of time with younger people in my professional life. They’re bloody exhausting, all fresh and energetic and ambitious.”
“Sounds disgusting.”
“It can be. So, anyway – it’s been nice being here with you. Enjoying your company. Even just chilling out and watching the TV together, you know?”
I nod, because I do know. I’ve enjoyed it too, and I am starting to feel a tug of sadness at the thought of him leaving. Not just because of the crush thing, but because it has felt alarmingly good to have his companionship. When you lose your life partner, there are many things you miss about the life you had before, and some of them are so simple. Sitting together and watching the TV is right up there, boring as it might sound – just the plain act of sharing a mundane experience, and talking about it afterwards.
“Yes. I know – and the feeling is mutual. Maybe we can watch TV together over Zoom when you’re in London? Like, our own personal Gogglebox ?”
He laughs out loud and says: “Brilliant idea – I’m in!”
I press play on Paddington , and let my mind wander as everyone’s favourite bear begins his adventures. It’s an odd thought, Zack being back in London in that big family home, all on his own – and me here, in a similar state once the kids have gone back to college. Maybe we can help each other through it. Or maybe he’s just being polite, who knows? Maybe once he’s back in the city he’ll forget I even exist. I have no control over that so it’s probably best to ignore it.
The movie helps, and is the perfect distraction. I find myself imagining how people here in Starshine Cove would react to a stray bear looking for a family, and decide that Paddington would be inundated with offers of free board, lodging and marmalade sandwiches. We would embrace him into all aspects of our community, and he would be the most loved bear ever.
This is the last conscious thought I have – picturing a fictional talking animal playing cricket on the village green – before I slide into sleep. I don’t notice it happening, of course, it sneaks up on me – I must get ambushed by one of those slow blinks. I’m not sure exactly when it happens, but it definitely does, because the next time I glance at the TV screen Paddington has found his happy ending and the film has finished. Yikes.
Even more of a yikes is the fact that somehow, during my snooze, I have scooted all the way across the sofa to Zack. Or, as we’ve met in the middle, maybe it was a mutual scooting. Either way, I am now snuggled up against him, my thigh across his lap and my face resting against his chest. His arm is slung around my shoulders, and one of mine is wound around his torso. We are completely entwined with each other, and for a blissful moment I simply let myself enjoy it.
I am a tactile person. I like hugs and cuddles and physical affection. My poor children are used to it, and I have plenty of friends in the village who are always happy to have a hug as well. But this is different – this is very different. I have not been in this kind of position since Simon, and part of me is thrilled, even if it did happen by accident.
There is just something so lovely about being in someone’s arms, feeling safe and protected and small, allowing yourself to let your guard down for a while. I’ve been Mum and Dad to my children for a long time now, which means I’ve always been on high alert. Always vigilant, looking around corners for everyone else. This feeling – this sense of warmth, of comfort, of security – is not one I’ve experienced for years. It is sublime, but in its own way it is also much scarier than any horror film.
I don’t want to move, but I know I have to. I can’t let myself stay here, in this lush cocoon, imagining that any of it is real. That any of it might last. He is leaving, and even if he wasn’t, I think it’s pretty much been established that I’m not his type. Maybe, I tell myself, I will find this again – maybe one of my dates will amount to more than coffee and awkward conversation. Maybe there will be a time in my life when I find a man I can enjoy moments like this with again – but that time is not now, and that man is not Zack.
I let out a little sigh at the thought of having to disturb him, and am shocked when he speaks. And when his arm tugs me even closer to him.
“Don’t move,” he says quietly, his voice a deep whisper. “I’ve been awake for a few minutes, wondering how we ended up like this – then deciding I didn’t care how. I was just glad we did.”
I’m grateful he can’t see my face, because I must look ridiculous, like a cartoon version of surprised. My eyes have popped open wide, I feel a flush sweeping across my cheeks and I’m suddenly very hot. I don’t think it’s menopausal – but it might be hormones. Just different ones. Even the air around us seems to sizzle, like there is electricity floating through it.
He nuzzles into my hair, and I feel the warmth of his breath against me. My hand burrows beneath his T-shirt, making contact with the bare skin of his chest, and I suck in a quick breath. God, it feels so good – to touch and be touched like this.
I feel his fingers stroking my curls away from my cheeks, and then his thumb is beneath my chin, gently tilting my face up to look at his. His green eyes are intense, his slight smile full of promise. He pauses, and I know he is giving me the chance to object. To pull away. To decide that this is a stupid idea and to put a stop to it before anything has even happened.
That is the last thing I want to do, though, and instead I reach up, lay my hand on the back of his neck, and pull him in for a kiss.
It starts softly, both of us taking our time and feeling our way through it. The touch of his lips against mine is everything I thought it would be, and the restrained beginning soon builds into something so much more. It’s as if both of us suddenly go on turbo-charge, and the kiss races from quiet and curious to hot and hungry in just a few seconds.
I barely notice myself moving, but somehow I do – and I find myself sitting astride him, his arms tugging me close, our mouths never parting. I hold his face between my palms, and he groans as his hold on me tightens.
I find myself writhing in a decidedly un-ladylike way against him, moaning out loud as his lips move from mine to trail kisses along my cheekbone, my jaw, down to my neck. Every spot he touches seems to be ablaze, and I can’t get enough of him. It’s as though every minute we’ve spent together until this moment was extended foreplay, and I am now on fire with need for him. I’d almost forgotten what this felt like – this unstoppable physical pleasure that chases all other thoughts from your mind. The way the body can take on this life of its own, detached from common sense and thought.
He kisses his way up to my ear, and whispers: “Are you sure?”
“Do I seem sure?”
“Yes, you do…”
“So stop asking me that, and take me to bed.”
I can’t quite believe that I have been so brazen – so demanding. But this feels too good to be wrong, and even if it is wrong, I just don’t care. I deserve this. We both do. I’m not going to spoil this fragile magic by over-thinking it, I decide. I don’t want to think at all – I just want to feel.
I clamber off his lap, and hold out my hands. He takes them, and soon he is there, looming above me, eyes shining and lips quirked up in a grin. He looks flushed too, and that makes me want him even more – seeing how much this is affecting him is a massive turn-on. It doesn’t matter that I’m not his type. It doesn’t matter that his previous girlfriends were all young and skinny and gorgeous. None of it matters, because he is here, and he so very clearly wants me, and boy, is the feeling mutual.
We stand a few inches apart, holding hands, both catching our breath and gazing into each other’s eyes.
“You are so bloody sexy,” he says, a rough edge to his voice. “I’ve tried so hard not to notice, but you kind of make that impossible.”
I raise an eyebrow, and know that I am smiling the smile of a woman who also feels sexy. I pull him closer, and say: “You’re not so bad yourself.”
“Thank you. Should we go upstairs and discuss this in more depth?”
“We can go upstairs, for sure, but I’ll be extremely disappointed if all we do is have a discussion.”
“Don’t worry. I can think of plenty of ways to avoid that. This is one of those situations where actions speak much louder than words.”
I nod, and keep hold of his hand as I lead him towards the stairs. Bear looks confused, but thumps his tail a couple of times and goes back to sleep. I’m glad he approves.
I’m halfway up the stairs when I feel him suddenly freeze. He stops, without any warning, a couple of steps below me. He’s still holding my hand, so I’m forced to stop too. I am fizzing with anticipation here, and can’t quite believe that he’s delaying things any further. Haven’t we waited long enough, for goodness’ sake?
A few random and unwelcome thoughts slalom through my mind, taking advantage of the unexpected pause to ambush me: has he gone off the idea? Has he had a change of heart now he’s seen how big my bum is from behind? Was he just carried away, and now he’s having the grown-up version of that moment when the lights go on at the end of a disco and everyone suddenly looks sweaty and crap?
“I think… I think I heard a car,” he says, frowning. His hair is furrowed into messy rows where I’ve run my fingers through it, his T-shirt is creased, and he looks deliciously dishevelled. I want to go up these stairs and make him look even more messy, but I do exactly the same as he is doing – freeze on the spot, go silent, and strain my ears. Every parent is familiar with this routine, the stop-and-start rhythm that your love life takes on once you have children. They’re usually just a lot smaller than ours when this happens.
I think I can hear something in the distance, but I’m not quite sure – until Bear lets out a huge booming woof, and skitters across the hardwood floor heading towards the hallway. I look at Zack, and see that he is as frustrated as I am as we hear the now unmistakable sound of a car door slamming. I am the only person who lives in this little cul-de-sac other than George, and I know he will be firmly asleep by now. Plus he doesn’t have a car anymore. It’s got to be one of our darling offspring, because this isn’t the kind of place that people drive to at random.
“One day,” I say, dropping his hand and dashing back down the stairs, “we will look back at this and laugh.”
“You’re probably right,” he says, as I reach up to straighten his hair and then do the same for myself. “But that day is not this day, and I feel more like punching a hole in the wall than laughing. Okay. Game faces on!”
I laugh, and we both wander through to the kitchen. Marcy and Sophie are standing there, shivering and soaking wet. The two of them look thoroughly bedraggled, and I instinctively go and warm up some milk for hot chocolate.
“What happened?” I ask as I work. “I didn’t expect to see you until the morning!”
I notice Marcy’s gaze flicking from her dad to me, and spot the slight raising of an eyebrow.
“I feel asleep on the couch,” Zack says quickly, obviously picking up on the same vibe. “We were watching Paddington .”
As far as it goes, he is telling the truth – but my increased heart rate is still evidence of the fact that there was a lot more to our cosy night in than the innocent watching of a movie. I turn back to the milk pan to hide my grin, feeling like a naughty schoolgirl caught out by her parents and loving every minute of it. Being naughty is fun – I’d almost forgotten that.
“Something went wrong with the tent,” Sophie says, peeling off her socks and grimacing at her cold feet. “Or maybe something was wrong with us, I’m not sure. The gig was fine. Usual sort of stuff, but a couple of new acoustic acts as well. Loads of booze. Bit of line dancing. I don’t think Glastonbury’s got anything to worry about yet, but it was fun.”
“Until it started raining,” Marcy continues, gratefully accepting her hot chocolate from me and using the mug to warm her hands. “I mean, rain is fine – but it just kept getting worse and worse. We’d had a few drinks so we just danced our way through it, as you do. But then when we tried to get to sleep, the tent just kind of… blew off us!”
“Did you peg it down properly?” I ask, sounding as though I know what I’m talking about. Truth be told I’ve never been a huge fan of sleeping under canvas, and when we did do it when the kids were younger, I left most of the logistics to Simon. I do, however, remember that you have to knock in the little ropes with a big hammer. I kind of liked that bit; it was cathartic.
“Well,” Sophie replies, sipping her drink, “I’d like to be annoyed with you at this point and say ‘of course we did, Mum, we’re not idiots!’ But evidence suggests that possibly that’s exactly what we are.”
“Right. And did you put the tent up before or after you started drinking?”
They both giggle, and it seems I have my answer. Drunk in charge of camping equipment. They’re probably not the first young people that’s happened to, and I’m certainly not one to judge.
“What about the others?” I ask. “Are they okay?”
“Yeah,” Sophie replies. “They ended up sleeping in the barn. It was only us who decided to make a run for it, because we were so wet, and because we’re giant wusses I suppose. We just wanted to be in the warm with mattresses and blankets.”
“Can’t say that I blame you, love.”
“I’m amazed you’re still awake though,” she continues, glancing at the kitchen clock on the wall behind me. “I assumed you’d have been in bed for hours by now. Don’t you have work in the morning?”
I realise that I have absolutely no idea what time it is, and turn around to check for myself. I do a little double take when I see that it’s almost two in the morning. Wow. Time flies when you’re having fun. And sleeping through movies.
“Umm, yeah, I do. Might open up an hour later than usual. Like Zack said, we just fell asleep. By accident. Because we’re, you know, ancient.”
Sophie gives me a slightly suspicious look, and I stop talking – I think I might be straying into the-lady-doth-protest-too-much territory. I force myself to meet her gaze head on. I have nothing to hide. Well, I do, but I am determined to hide it.
“You two should go and get into some dry clothes,” I say, using my best mother-knows-best voice. I add: “You’ll catch your death,” just for fun.
Zack has been taking in this whole exchange, perched on the edge of the dining table. He straightens up, and announces: “I’m exhausted. I’m going to head back to the Starshine Inn. Marcy, Sophie, do as Connie says. You’ll be off to Crete soon and you don’t want to be doing it with a cold, do you?”
I nod in grown-up agreement. Gosh, we are absolutely nailing this responsible parenting thing.
Both of our daughters, miraculously, do as they are told. I think they’re too fatigued to resist. They head off upstairs, leaving behind a soaking wet, half-unpacked tent that is now sitting in a pool of rain on my kitchen floor tiles.
“I suppose I really had better be going,” Zack says, swiping his eyes with his hands. “I am actually tired.”
“You didn’t seem tired a few minutes ago.”
“I know. Strange that, isn’t it? It’s like I found a reserve of extra energy from somewhere.”
I laugh, and walk with him and Bear to the door. He pauses just before he opens it, and leans down to kiss me. It’s on the lips, and it is lovely, but it is a pale imitation of the kisses we shared earlier. The moment has been well and truly shattered.
“See you tomorrow?” he asks, looking at me a little uncertainly. Maybe he thinks the moment isn’t just shattered, it’s gone forever. Maybe this gorgeous man, despite his surface style and sleek confidence, is capable of feeling insecure as well.
I stand up on my tippy-toes and give him another kiss – one with a bit more oomph to it.
“You most definitely will,” I reply. “To be continued.”
He smiles and disappears off into the wild and windy night. It’s still raining heavily, and the wind is howling up from the bay. I watch until he is gone from sight, and close the door. I lean against it, and let out a loud sigh.
I am tired, of course I am – but I also feel more alive than I have for years. Every part of me is tingling. Every part of me feels hopeful. Every cell in my body feels electrified.
I head up the stairs, and feel like I am floating all the way to my bed.