7. Gully
Gully
B eing in unchartered territory made me nervous. I was used to being Mr Confident, Mr Smile-and-Everything-Will-Be-Okay, the happy-go-lucky one of the Holland brothers who always got his way and made everyone feel like a winner in the process.
With Iris, I was steering a boat for which I didn’t have an instruction manual or any experience of captaining. I was feeling around in the dark, clutching at any hints to make sure I didn’t crash into anything and fracture the delicate world we’d constructed.
I wanted to say that the photos were the start of it, that I’d planned for that to happen, but that wasn’t the case. I was worried that I’d scare her off, that she’d revert back to pretending that nothing had happened between us, like we’d done after New Orleans, and then I was worried that she might only have feelings for me because of something like Stockholm Syndrome – she was carrying the baby we’d made and we were more entwined in each other’s lives than ever before.
It took her a few hours to show me the photos. I was in the kitchen, reading through some of Clover’s comments on the first draft of the novel that we were getting done at super speed. I’d tried to not think of how the photos looked, not wanting to fix too hard on that afternoon at the bottom of the garden, although when I wasn’t in total control of myself it was all I could think about.
Since this afternoon, we’d been more tactile. I’d held her more, she’d put her arms around me more often, there’d been little kisses but nothing more than that. It was as if we were both taking small steps to test out how it felt now that it was different.
It was giving me a huge case of blue balls.
“Want to see?” Iris put her laptop down on the kitchen island and sat down at it. Her hair was clipped up, tendrils escaping and she was make-up free. Every time I saw her I thought again that she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.
I left my seat to stand behind her, wrapping my arms around her and kissing the side of her head. “I’ve wanted to see them since you took them. I wasn't sure if you were pretending they didn’t happen.”
She shook her head. “I felt shy showing you them. I’ve done some editing on one or two – the ones we can show others at some point.”
“Not now?”
She tipped her head to look at me. “If anyone sees these, they’ll have questions.”
I had questions too.
I looked at the first few photos that were documenting me stripping Iris of her top, her eyes on mine, her smile for me. They told a story, mine being completely obvious. Even I could read my thoughts, the lens capturing my expression, my darkened eyes, lust-filled.
Love-filled.
She paused on a photo where I was undoing the front-fastener of her bra, my eyes locked onto the camera, my hand covering her breasts. Her cheeks were pink, her hands on my arms, one of her arms stretched up.
I knew I was photogenic, the camera liked me and I’d always enjoyed posing for it, something that’d brought endless amusement to Finn and Roe. Iris could’ve made a career from being in front of the camera rather than behind it, so the photos looked like something from a planned shoot already. But there was more to them, something a planned shoot would never have been able to give, and that was the chemistry between us.
My breath hitched when I saw the first photo with us both topless, Iris’ tits full and on display.
“No one else gets to see this.” My words came out too harshly.
She turned her head and looked at me. “Why? It’s a gorgeous picture.”
“Because I don’t want anyone else seeing you like this apart from me.” My eyes flicked from her to the screen.
“How about this one?” She forwarded quickly through a few photos, the sight of them making my pants feel tighter in the groin area.
My hands moved to just below her breasts, my thumbs brushing the underside of them through her T-shirt, remembering how they felt in my hands.
The photo she stopped on was perfect. One of my hands cupped her opposite breast, my arm covering most of the other. My other hand was resting on her stomach. Iris was looking up at me and I was looking at her.
“That’s pretty nice.” For a writer, I was remarkably shit with words sometimes.
“I think we should get it printed. Frame it and put it up. You can’t actually see anything and it’s a gorgeous picture.” She wriggled out of my arms and stood up from the stool. “And I think we should have that one printed too.” She forwarded through a few more photos, landing on one which was side on, my hand obviously holding her breast, her stomach showing an ever-so-slight curve that wasn’t yet noticeable. The photo hinted at sex, at a sultry moment, leaving the viewer wondering what happened next.
“No one but you and I can see that.” My words came out firmer than I’d intended.
Iris looked up at me and shook her head. “Possessive much?”
I’d never been called that before. “I’m not possessive.”
Her smile grew slowly, her hand on my chest. “But no one else can see my boobs but you?”
“Correct.” I was aware I was contradicting myself.
“That’s being possessive. Do you want to pull the ‘while you’re carrying my baby’ card?”
Thankfully she looked amused instead of annoyed.
“No.” My hands went to her waist. I was wrong footed. I needed to correct this and find some control in the situation. “But I think you like me being possessive.” It was almost a shot in the dark. Iris was a free-spirit, she’d always done her own thing; I wasn’t sure how much she’d like being requested to do something.
“Maybe I do. Sometimes.” Her eyes were heavy with something. “I’m not used to it though.”
My heart was setting a record pace for number of beats per minute when I was only standing.
“I don’t want anyone but me seeing you like that.”
“Like what, Gulliver?” She toyed with me.
“Bare.” I cupped her breast through her T-shirt. “I don’t want anyone else touching you like this either.”
“Including me? Can I touch myself?”
My cock hardened tortuously. “Only if I’m watching.”
Now I was torturing myself. And her.
Maybe that was the plan I was making. I pulled my hands away.
“These pictures are stunning. Let’s look at them tomorrow.” I walked away, wondering where the fuck I’d downloaded such self-control from.
She frowned at me. “You made me promise we wouldn’t pretend this didn’t happen.”
There was hurt there and I felt like a tool for a moment.
I nodded. “I’m not pretending. Those photos are perfect. You’re perfect. Touching you like that was fucking amazing and I want to do it over and over again, but we have time. So much fucking time.”
Her eyes widened. I stepped closer to her, my hands going to her shoulders, grounding myself, hoping I was grounding her.
“Is this because of the baby?”
I shook my head. “It’s because I never stopped wanting you even after I had you.” I kissed her, softly, as sweetly as I could, then I turned and walked away, needing a very cold shower.
I tried to come up with a master plan. I wasn’t the only creative in my family; Finn was inventive with his businesses and the drinks he made; Roe was creative in terms of app design and problem solving. My creativity was in telling stories, so perhaps the most useless of skills given that they didn’t solve any real-world problems. I could construct a killer plot, develop characters over a series of books so that any reader was invested in them and not just the murders they solved, but working out how not to jump into a relationship with Iris with both feet, and thus spilling the entirety of the water out of the receptacle was not a practiced strength.
I sat on the edge of my bed looking out over the Strait, a boat passing by at some speed. The fence Finn and I had almost finished building looked good, a fence that would forever bring memories of Iris and her camera.
She was editing the photos, lost in them, when I left her in the kitchen, making sure she had a cup of tea and a bowl of olives which were her catnip at present.
I needed a few minutes to pull myself together and work out how to play this.
I’d known since New Orleans that I felt more for her than I’d done anyone else. I hadn’t put a label on it because that would’ve closed things off to growing or changing and I hadn’t known how she felt about me. I still didn’t.
I knew there were feelings that were more than friendly, but I didn’t know if those were there because she was carrying my child, a thought too heady for me to process properly. I wanted to woo her; I wanted her to fall in love with me and I wanted to give her a chance to develop those feelings if they were there rather than it be a hormone infused toppling that ended poorly.
So I needed to be creative – which meant there was only one way for me to work this out: what would a pair of characters do? This was still tricky as I was only writing this story from one point of view, so I didn’t have a writer’s omnipresent perspective.
I thought of my detective inspector, one of the central characters in my series. He’d been in love with his detective sergeant since the first book, only there’d been other factors at play which meant they’d never been able to get together – he thought one of the reasons was that his feelings weren’t reciprocated. I knew they were.
What advice would I give him?
I watched the water.
I heard a bird singing.
I remembered the dates and the brief flings and short relationships where I’d been the bad guy for ending it, breaking hearts like they were nothing more than chipped pottery.
I had no intention of breaking Iris’ heart although there was every chance she’d break mine.
What advice?
Don’t do anything uncharacteristic. Don’t do something that’s not you. Don’t do something that’s forced.
Don’t look like you’re trying too hard.
My heart was still thumping away in my chest. I didn’t like that feeling; it made me want to be reckless, so I picked up my phone and dialled a number that wouldn’t be expecting this call.
“What’s up?”
Roe answered quickly which probably meant he was still working. He’d have helped with the fence today but he was on an urgent job – no other details given, which suggested it was something to do with a bad guy and the dark web.
“I need relationship advice.”
Laughter. “From me?”
“I know. Ironic. You’ve had the grand total of one relationship – with your wife.” Which begged the question why I was calling him.
“So you want advice about you. Can I have some more context – in fact, give me five minutes and I’ll call you back.” He hung up without an agreement.
I opened the doors from my bedroom onto the balcony that ran outside, the air cooling after an unseasonably warm day. These doors would need child locks on them or I’d need to have the balcony modified before our kid was old enough to get out here.
I was considering what else needed to be done when my phone rang. Roe had been exactly five minutes, which was no surprise.
“You’re in deep with Iris, eh?” There was laughter in his voice. “The heartbreaker has fallen.”
“Fuck off and be helpful.” I shook my head even though he couldn’t see me. “What do I do? I want more – I want everything – but I don’t want her to choose that because we’re having a baby together.”
“I don’t think it’s that simple to separate it.” Roe went quiet, probably thinking. “For either of you. My advice, Gulliver, is just do what you’d usually do. Be yourself.”
“That’s what I’d say to Joe.”
“Your detective?” he chuckled. Roe told me he’d never read any of my books. He was clearly lying. “Yeah, well, follow your own advice. Flirt. Do that thing that has women falling over themselves to get to you, but only do it with her. Obviously.”
“I don’t want to look at anyone else.”
“I figured. Hence your dating history over the last couple of years with these short terms relationships that were never going to go anywhere. It makes sense now.” He was still laughing to himself. “Freya called it. She said you were hung up on someone else, and then she got all these hearts in her eyes and started acting all soppy.”
“I bet you loved that.” My twin was the least romantic person I’d ever met and I pitied Freya.
“It had its perks.”
I heard Calla in the background, asking for daddy.
“I’ve got to go. More important things to do. A couple of tips first though – say hi to Uncle Gull.” Calla’s baby voice came on the phone, her giggles still one of the best things I got to hear.
“Okay, don’t go all over the top, which you can do and it’s really unattractive. No declaring your undying love. Show not tell. Make her want you.” Roe was rushing his words now, clearly keen to do whatever Calla wanted to play at. “Slow it down. Laters.” He hung up.
Five minutes later I received a selfie from him, his face covered with lipstick and bows stuck in his hair.
I did what any good brother would do and sent it to everyone I knew before posting it to my social media account.
He’d have expected nothing less.
That evening, Iris and I sat together in front of the TV, binge watching a detective series that was actually better than the books it was based on. She was wearing sweatpants again and one of my hoodies that had somehow found its way out of my drawers and on her. We’d eaten fish fresh from sea that morning and veggies from Roman’s granddad, who grew a lot of his own and dropped a veg box off once a week. I stretched my legs out on the stool, my leg brushing against hers. My arm stretched out around her shoulders.
My skin heated up; my pulse increased. I kept my focus on the TV, although I’d just missed a crucial plot point.
It didn’t matter. I could read a review and catch up, if I could be bothered.
Iris leaned a little into me. She was watching the show, but I was pretty sure she was taking in about as much as me.
“Want anything?” I asked, making the question as innocuous as possible.
She turned her head to see me. “I’m good.” She eased a little closer, reangling herself so she was resting against me.
I left it like that, content in being a human cushion for the next hour or so until she was tired and headed off to bed.
Walking her to her bedroom door wasn’t necessary, but I did it anyway, saying goodnight to her and heading back out knowing that she was still looking at me as I left.
Then I went to my study and let the next chapter flow out of my fingers, those words now coming easily.