Chapter 8 #3
She realised right then that she didn’t want him to leave and that, despite the harrowing story, talking with Pete had been the most relaxed, fun evening she could remember.
‘No, that’s not it . . .’
She found herself plonking down beside Pete, conscious of the muscular leg next to her own.
‘It feels weird. Nobody’s stayed here since I moved in.’
He leaned forward, with his elbows resting on his knees. ‘Do you want me to go?’
‘Do you want to?’
He turned his head towards her. ‘No, Ally, I don’t.’
Ally felt herself on the edge of a cliff, but could she take that one step further?
‘I don’t want you to go either . . .’
The space between them felt charged like an electric field as Ally noticed her heart pounding in the silence. He took her hand and, raising it to his lips, explored her palm with his tongue, sending electric shocks through her body.
‘Come here,’ he murmured, pulling her towards him.
She felt his stubble as his mouth searched for hers, his tongue probing.
She felt him pushing her onto the sofa as her body yielded to the weight of his powerful frame pressing down onto her, taking her breath away.
Oh help, is this madness? She checked herself, as they felt for naked skin under each other’s clothes.
‘Wait . . . no . . . Pete, I can’t . . . I didn’t mean this.’
He looked surprised. ‘Neither did I.’
Ally scrambled up, the sensible part of her brain making a last-ditch attempt to keep every other part of her in check.
‘I mean . . . we work together, it’s . . .’ She found her feet carrying her distractedly into the bedroom, but as soon as she got there, she realised it wasn’t where she wanted to be at all, pivoted and headed straight back into the sitting room.
‘I don’t want you to think I’m the kind of girl who . . .’
Oh God, she’d just turned into an addled teenager. Pete held out a reassuring arm. ‘Ally, it’s OK. We don’t need to do anything. I just want to be here with you.’
‘Really?’
‘Really. Come back here.’
So she did.
* * *
She woke with a start to see the digital clock by her bed showing that it was 9.15 a.m. So . . . that’s right, she was in her own bed. The bedroom door was ajar and, turning on her side, she could see the crumpled duvet, a patch of white fur and a foot sticking out.
So, Pete and Patsy were still in her living room. She felt a wave of relief. Waking to find herself alone would’ve felt desolate, even with the company of Harry and Sally.
Did we . . .? She mentally checked her body.
She could still feel the touch of his hands on her skin, but no, they’d definitely stopped short.
And that was good, she assured herself – it left her still clutching a modicum of control.
Some people might consider it irrelevant but to her it made a difference.
Throwing back the duvet, Ally realised she had a choice between her off-white matted fluffy dressing gown, with the hot-chocolate stains which wouldn’t come out, and the grey silk kimono with the butterfly pattern she’d bought after reading an article called Fight the breakup blues.
She wedged open the bedroom door to find there was basically no floor space left.
Patsy had found a patch of duvet and was now snoozing adorably on his back so, creeping behind the kitchen counter, Ally put on the kettle and began to prepare a cafetière of coffee, before filling a jug of milk to heat in the microwave.
She heard a groan as Pete emerged from under the duvet, while Patsy gave a luxurious yawn and stretched his legs to twice their usual length, the cosy new situation suiting him perfectly – way better than the icy-cold van.
‘Tea or coffee?’
‘Too many options,’ Pete muttered sleepily.
‘Cheeky bugger! Well, I’m making coffee.’
He pulled himself up and leaned against the sofa, smiling and gazing at her with his tossed hair and five o’clock shadow. She was finding his sheer physicality a little overwhelming so she returned a shy smile and turned away to fuss over the ground coffee.
Calm the feck down, she scolded herself.
But Rosemarie was right: underneath the grime he was a total ride.
Now, what was she going to do? The truth was, Francis had never had this effect on her, maybe because he’d never felt unavailable.
Oh, why was she kidding herself? Francis was lovely, but if he were a type of coffee, he’d have been mild blend.
They’d started off doing it twice a week, which had settled down to once, and then down to whenever they had time, which turned out to be rarely.
With him, she’d never found herself trying to control her breathing or her tingling nerve endings.
‘You look nice.’
She liked the flatness of his comment. Pete was cool.
He knew not to try too hard. On cue, Patsy got up and padded across to her to say good morning.
Ally leaned down and buried her face in the cockapoo puppy’s fleecy coat.
It seemed the safest place right now. Not because Pete was dangerous – she had no fears of that – but because he was male.
There was an animality about him, disguised beneath his work clothes.
As Rosemarie had said, Pete was a heavy-hitter down on his luck.
But surely a guy like that couldn’t be bullied by some gold digger?
What was the weak spot that she was somehow manipulating?
But right in that moment, they were both there, and she was feeling whatever resistance she had held on to last night dissolving in his grey eyes.
‘Did you sleep?’
‘Hardly. Sure, you kept me awake half the night.’ He grinned at her. ‘One sugar, thanks.’
She was trying hard to maintain a cool air and not beam like an idiot, which was difficult every time she looked at him. Maybe they could go for a stroll, grab some lunch, even an early movie . . .
Just then, his phone rang, shattering their cosy idyll. His expression flipped immediately from seductive to serious.
‘What? Yeah, oh God, right. OK, I’ll see you there in half an hour.’ He ended the call, looking distracted.
‘Look, I’m going to have to go. I’m really sorry, Ally, it’s just . . . something’s come up. But thanks . . . thanks for everything.’
Her heart sank as she watched him throw on his clothes and scoop up Patsy, who didn’t look one bit pleased either.
‘See you tomorrow, then.’
She felt the chilly draught as the door shut behind him, leaving her holding two coffees and feeling like an idiot.
At least he’d had the decency to fold his bedclothes – that said something about him not taking her for granted.
She hadn’t overheard the conversation but it had definitely been a woman’s voice with a sharp, insistent tone.
She flopped down on the sofa, opposite Harry and Sally.
A heavy blanket of disappointment threatened to descend on her.
It was time to phone Rosemarie, who, thankfully, was an early riser.
‘You’re freaking joking? His ex – if that’s who it was – phones, snaps her fingers and he packs up and runs out the door, just like that?’
‘He didn’t even say why he had to go. I feel such a fool. Although, in fairness, it did sound very urgent.’
‘Yeah,’ huffed Rosemarie. ‘’Course it did. She’s the type that can always sniff out when their ex is trying to move on. Anyway, did you do it? And remember this is me you’re talking to . . . I can see through walls. Not literally, but you know what I mean.’
There was no point in being coy.
‘Not . . . quite. I knew if I did, I’d be lost. Rosie, why does every relationship I get into end up a failure? What’s wrong with me?’
‘Nothing’s wrong with you. They’re all untrustworthy rats.’
Rosemarie was a supremely loyal friend, but Ally did sometimes doubt the soundness of her judgement.
For example, her sister and her husband appeared to be so contentedly married that they barely spoke about each other, in a good sort of way.
It was as though they fitted together effortlessly, like a sock and shoe.
And even Damo and his girlfriend of one year seemed very much in love – and contrary to Rosemarie’s dark pronouncements that ‘everyone compromises’, they appeared to have found ‘their person’.
So, it was possible for some people, just not for her.
She decided this was a rabbit hole she didn’t want to explore so, as an antidote to moping all Sunday, she cleaned out Harry and Sally’s fish tank, changed her sheets and threw out all the tiny pots of sauce in the fridge.
After that, feeling a sense of achievement, she reheated the second coffee, which she sipped while falling into a reverie, watching the fish flitting around in their warm, softly lit world.
There really was a lot to be said for being a pet fish. Harry was surfing the bubbles rising from his yawning pirate chest, but Sally appeared to be listening intently.
‘See, the thing about Rosemarie is that she is the only child of a very young mother and spent a lot of her life with her grandmother, and nobody talked about anything emotional, so she got most of her relationship information growing up from Ireland’s Own magazine.
She’s got these no-nonsense, slightly old-fashioned opinions, but underneath I know she’d love to find someone of her own. ’
Still, Rosemarie was not somebody to readily take advice from anyone, so Ally changed the subject.
‘OK, we’re going to have to think of ourselves. The problem is, we’ve the mortgage until the end of this month, which is in three weeks’ time, and after that the bailiffs will be in, or else I could sublet and go home to Mum and Dad. Or . . . I could always ask Pete if he’s space in his van?’
Sally wafted her frilly fins and eyed Ally evenly.
‘Kidding, obviously. I just thought I’d say it.’