Chapter 10 #3
‘No, thanks,’ Louise said. ‘I’ll stick around with them and try to keep them out of mischief – and keep Tina away from journos,’ she added. ‘You’ll be here, though, won’t you?’
Kate nodded.
‘Good. I think he’ll be better off with just you. I know you’ll look after him.’
* * *
Rory sat on the terrace, twitchily tapping along to his playlist and cursing his luck.
Tina had been creating such a fuss about Will not taking her to the concert that he and the other band members had decided one of them should stay behind and go with her to get her off Will’s back.
Although they were bewildered by Will’s grief, they weren’t unsympathetic, and it was the only way they could think of helping.
He had drawn the short straw. The others would be there by now, partying backstage with Tony and his crew, getting high and catching up with old friends.
It seemed incredibly unfair that when he had Tessa out of the way for once and could really enjoy himself, he should get lumbered with Will’s harpy girlfriend.
He pulled out his mobile phone and idly sent another text to vote Tessa’s latest rival off Celebrity Cell Block.
A tap on his shoulder startled him. Louise was standing beside him, rattling car keys. ‘Hi, Rory.’
A grin spread slowly across his face. He didn’t know where she had appeared from, but it seemed somehow natural and completely in character that she should materialise like an angel when someone was in trouble. ‘I’m taking you guys to Tony’s gig,’ she explained, smiling down at him. ‘Ready?’
Rory beamed up at her. Suddenly that straw wasn’t looking so short.
* * *
When everyone had gone, the house seemed eerily quiet, and Kate realised she hadn’t been alone here since the moment she’d arrived.
But instead of enjoying the peace and solitude, she felt nervy and on edge, moving restlessly from room to room, unable to settle to anything.
She turned on the TV in the living room and sat down to watch Celebrity Cell Block but couldn’t concentrate.
In the first ad break she realised she had been staring blankly at the screen for fifteen minutes without having taken in a second of it.
She decided to cook something and found herself standing in the middle of the kitchen, staring indecisively at the cupboards.
She didn’t know whether she should go and check on Will or if he would rather be left alone, and headed for the stairs half a dozen times, only to change her mind and turn back.
All she could think about was that kiss and how fantastic it had been.
She wondered what would have happened if Louise hadn’t arrived when she did.
How much longer would he have gone on kissing her?
She didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry that they had been interrupted, but she couldn’t help smiling to herself every time she thought of it, hugging it to herself like a delicious secret – although rationally she knew Will had been reaching out for comfort and she had just happened to be there.
Still, she was hyper-aware that they were now alone in the house together.
She couldn’t control the images that kept flashing through her mind: Will coming downstairs and kissing her again…
Will tearing her clothes off and ravishing her by the pool…
Will bending her over the kitchen table…
God, she had to do something to take her mind off it.
What kind of person was she? Will was devastated because his father was dead and all she could think of was screwing his brains out.
Not sure if he would want to eat, she decided to make a shepherd’s pie, which wouldn’t be spoiled by hanging around.
She took her time, working slowly and methodically, finding she had to make a huge effort to focus even on this familiar task.
Eventually the steady routine of chopping, slicing and stirring calmed her down somewhat and soothed her frazzled nerves.
When she had the pie in the oven, she poured herself a glass of wine and went to sit on the terrace, not sure what to do next.
All that nervous energy had left her exhausted, but unable to relax.
It was a beautiful balmy night, the sky a deep inky blue, and Kate sank back in her chair, listening to the chirping of the cicadas, making a conscious effort to relax. But as soon as she closed her eyes, the porno channel in her brain started playing again.
Wham! Will was slamming her against the patio door, pulling her dress up over her head. She could taste his hot breath in her mouth as his tongue crashed against her teeth. His hand was delving into her knickers and now his fingers were inside her, drawing little circles against her clitoris…
Shifting restlessly in her seat, she decided to try some relaxation techniques she had picked up from Brian. She tried to empty her mind and focus on counting as she breathed in slowly, paused for a second, then counting again as she breathed out. In… one… two… three… four…
Now Will was lying on top of her on the grass.
She could feel the cool night air on her skin as his tongue flicked across her hardened nipples.
His cock was like an iron bar against her stomach as he licked, sucked and stroked, turning her insides to liquid.
Rolling over so she was on top of him, she unzipped his fly and straddled him…
This was no bloody use! Sighing impatiently, Kate gave up trying to focus on her breathing. Instead, she’d try the one about the waves on a beach.
Okay, I’m the waves on a beach – or am I the beach? she thought confusedly. Anyway, doesn’t matter. The waves are rolling slooowly in… stopping for a second or two… rolling slooowly back out.
She shimmied down in the sun lounger and exhaled deeply, trying to convince herself that this was working.
Okay, concentrate. Rolling sloowly in… stopping… rolling slooowly back out… slooowly in…
Will’s head was between her legs and his tongue was inside her, gently rolling in… rolling back out… rolling in. A huge tidal wave was building inside her and was about to crash—
‘Has everyone gone?’
Kate came back to earth with a bang. Will was standing in the doorway, looking at her.
She wondered how long he had been there and hoped she didn’t look as flustered as she felt.
She was surprised by how normal he seemed – but then, of course, he didn’t know they had just been having wild sex.
‘Yes.’ She smiled. ‘The coast is clear.’ She tried to appear calm, but her heart was racing and she felt incredibly shy, as if they’d really just been writhing about naked on the grass.
Will breathed a sigh of relief and sank into a chair opposite her. ‘I was going to put on that DVD Grace sent me,’ he said. ‘Dad’s On the Couch. Watch it with me?’ he asked, boyishly anxious.
‘Of course, if you want me to.’
Kate followed him into the living room. He put the DVD in the machine and sat down next to her, their thighs almost touching.
He pressed a button on the remote control and the screen sprang into life.
Kate was filled with anxiety as the familiar theme tune struck up, worried that the program would be too harrowing in the circumstances and upset him even more.
‘My guest this evening is the distinguished playwright, Sir Philip Sargent,’ Richard Slater was saying.
The camera pulled back to reveal Philip sitting opposite his interviewer in an identical brown leather armchair.
It must be a shock for Will to see his father still alive, Kate thought and was struck by how attractive Philip still was.
A devastatingly handsome man in his youth, years of partying too late and drinking too hard had left their mark, etching deep lines on either side of his mouth and around his soulful, penetrating eyes – which were the same intense blue as Will’s.
But the lines and furrows added interest and character to his refined features, and the silver-grey of his still thick hair gave him a distinguished air.
Philip was immensely charismatic, funny and charming, and Kate found herself wishing she had had the chance to meet him. She could see why her mother had become so fond of him over the years.
After trawling through Philip’s childhood and hell-raising early adulthood, the conversation became more serious as he talked about his difficult marriage to Helen Kilgannon, Will’s mother.
He spoke movingly of his ultimately futile attempts to cope with her manic depression.
He was ruthlessly self-critical, not sparing himself as he explored his ineptitude in dealing with his wife’s disintegration, his shortcomings as a husband and father, and his ultimate failure as both with the breakdown of his marriage and the abandonment of his child.
‘Looking back,’ Philip said, ‘I can’t believe how crass I was.
I mean, I was a grown man – pretty resilient, I liked to think – and I couldn’t cope with Helen’s illness.
I couldn’t live in that house any longer.
I had to leave to save my sanity. So I walked out and left my teenage son to deal with it alone. He was only a boy.’
The camera lingered mercilessly on his face, registering every flicker of emotion. The sadness and regret in his eyes made him seem older.
‘So you feel you were wrong to leave when you did?’ Richard’s hushed voice came from off-camera.
‘Yes, absolutely,’ Philip said matter-of-factly.
‘How did you feel about it at the time?’
‘Well, guilty, of course – but not enough to stop me doing exactly what I wanted.’ He smiled self-mockingly. ‘I thought I had a right to be happy.’
‘And didn’t you?’
‘Not at my son’s expense,’ he said shortly. ‘But I come from a generation that scoffed at the notion of staying together for the sake of the children, or working at marriage – the whole idea of self-sacrifice. We believed that personal happiness was paramount.’
‘You don’t believe that any more?’